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FOR THE RIGHT 



FOR THE RIGHT 


BY 

KARL EMIL FRANZOS 


GIVEN IN ENGLISH 

By JULIE SUTTER 


a $teface 

By GEORGE MACDONALD, LL.D. 


LIBRARY 
OF THE 

6UP/.COUNCH, 
SO.'. JURISDICTION- 


NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
1888 


PZ3 

. F?S“? 


Exqhfefige 
Of Su Dre J 


P r emft Council A.A.S*$SL 

3 0,1940 





a. a 


PREFACE. 


Not having even been asked to do so, I write tills 
preface from admiration of the book. The translation I 
have not yet seen, but knowing previous work by the 
same hand, have confidence in it. 

How much the story is founded on fact I cannot tell ; 
a substratum of fact there must be. To know that such 
a man once lived as is represented in it, might well wake 
a new feeling of both strength and obligation : here is 
one who, with absolutely no help from what is commonly 
meant by education, lived heroically. But be the tale 
as much a product of the imagination as the wildest 
romance, it remains a significant fact that the genera- 
tion has produced a man capable of such an ideal. 

For the more evident tendency of art has for some 
time been to an infinite degeneracy. The cry of “Art 
for art’s sake,’’ as a protest against the pursuit of art 
for the sake of money or fame, one can recognize in its 
half wisdom, knowing the right cry to be, “ Art for 
truth’s sake 1 ’’ But when certain writers tell us that 


VI 


PREFACE. 


the true aim of the author of fiction is to give the 
people what they want, namely, a reflection, as in a 
mirror, of themselves — a mirror not such as will show 
them to themselves as they are, but as they seem to 
each other, some of us feel that we stand on the verge 
of an abyss of falsehood. The people — in whose favour 
they seem to live and move and have their being — desire, 
they say, no admixture of further object, nothing to indi- 
cate they ought not to be what they are, or show them 
what they ought to be : they acknowledge no relations 
with the ideal, only with that which is — themselves, 
namely, and what they think and do. Such writers do 
not understand that nothing does or can exist except the 
ideal ; nor is their art-philosophy other than “procuress 
to the lords of hell.” Whoever has an ideal and is 
making no struggle toward it, is sinking into the outer 
darkness. The ideal is the end, and must be the object 
of life. Attained, or but truly conceived, we must think 
of it as the indispensable. 

It is, then, a great fact of the age that, such low ends 
being advocated, and men everywhere insisting on a 
miserable origin and miserable prospects for humanity, 
there should yet appear in it a man with artistic concep- 
tion of a lofty ideal, and such artistic expression of the 
same as makes it to us not conceivable only, but 
humanly credible. For an ideal that is impossible is no 
ideal ; it is a fancy, no imagination. Our author keeps 
his narrative entirely consistent with human nature — 


PREFACE. 


vii 

not, indeed, human nature as degraded, disjointed, and 
unworthy, neither human nature as ideally perfect, but 
human nature as reaching after the perfection of doing 
the duty that is plainly perceived. In none of its details 
is the story unlikely. We may doubt if such a man 
as Taras ever lived ; but alas for him who has no hope 
that such a man will ever be ! 

The reader must not suppose I would have every- 
thing the man did regarded as right. On the contrary, 
the man becomes bitterly aware of his errors — errors 
of knowledge, however, of judgment and of belief, be it 
understood — not of conduct as required by that belief, 
knowledge, and judgment. His head is at a loss rather 
than in fault; heart and will are pure. A good man 
may do the most mistaken things with such conviction 
of their rectitude as to be even bound to do them. How 
far he might be to blame for not knowing or judging 
better, God only could tell. If he could not have 
known better or judged better, he may have to bear some 
of the consequences of his mistakes, but he will not have 
to bear any blame ; while his doing of what he believed to 
be right will result in his both being and knowing what 
is right. The rare thing is not the man who knows what 
is right, but the man who actually, with all the power in 
him, with his very being, sets himself to do that right 
thing, however unpleasant or painful, irksome or heart- 
rending to him. Such a man, and such only, is a hero. 

At the same time, the deepest instruction lies in 


viii 


PREFACE. 


the very mistakes of the man. The purity of his 
motive and object confessed, not merely were the means 
he took to reach his end beyond his administration, but 
the end itself was imperfect. There are multitudes 
who imagine they hate injustice when they but hate 
injury to themselves. They will boil with rage at 
that, but hear of wrong even to a friend with much 
equanimity. How many would not rather do a small 
wrong than endure a great one ! Do such men love 
justice ? No man is a lover of justice who would not 
rather endure the greatest wrong than commit the 
least. Here we have a man who, to revenge no 
wrong done to himself, but out of pure reverence for 
justice, feeling bound in his very being to do what in 
him lies for justice, gives up everything, wife even and 
children, and openly defying the emperor, betakes himself 
an outlaw to the hills, to serve that Justice whose minis- 
ters have forsaken her. He will do with what power 
he has, the thing so many fancy they would do if they 
had the power they have not — put down injustice with 
the strong hand. There is a place for this in the order 
of things ; but were the judges of the earth absolutely 
righteous, the world would never thus be cleansed of in- 
justice. The justest judge will do more for the coming 
of the kingdom of righteousness by being himself a true 
man, than by innumerable righteous judgments. The 
first and longest step a man can take toward redress 
of all wrong, is to be righteous , not in the avenging of 


PREFACE. 


IX 


wrong, but in the doing of the right thing, in the work- 
ing of righteousness. He who could have put down 
evil with the strong hand had he so pleased, was he who 
less than any cared to do so. He saw that men might 
be kept from injustice and be not a whit the more just, 
or the more ready to do justice when the hand was 
withdrawn. What alone he thought worth his labour 
was that a man should love justice as he loved it, and 
be ready to die for it as he himself died. This man in 
his ignorance set out to do the thing his Master had 
declined to do ; his end itself was inadequate. 

Nor was the man himself adequate to the end. The 
very means he possessed he was unable to control ; and 
wrong followed as terrible as unavoidable. Vengeance 
must be left with the Most High ; for the administration 
of punishment, to be just, demands not merely an 
unselfishness perfect as God’s, but an insight and know- 
ledge equal to his. Besides all this, to administer 
justice a man must have power beyond his own, and 
must, therefore, largely depend on others, while yet he 
can with no certainty determine who are fit for his 
purpose and who are not. In brief, the justest man 
cannot but fail in executing justice. He may be pure, 
but his work will not. 

One thing I must beg of the reader — not to come to 
a conclusion before he has come to the end ; not to 
imagine that now or now he may condemn, but to wait 
until the drama is played out. 


I 


X PREFACE. 

It was indeed a bold undertaking when our author 
chose for his hero a man who could not read or write, 
who had no special inclination, no personal aptitude for 
social or public affairs, and would present him attempt- 
ing the noblest impossibility, from a divine sense of 
wrong done to others than himself, and duty owed by 
him to all men and to God— a duty become his because 
he alone was left to do it. 

I have seldom, if ever, read a work of fiction that 
moved me with so much admiration. 

The failures of some will be found eternities beyond 
the successes of others. 

George Mao Donald. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. To the Front 1 

II. The Stuff he was Made of 13 

III. The Right Wronged 45 

IY. Taking up the Battle 56 

Y. The Wrong Yictorious 80 

VI. Appealing unto Caesar 107 

VII. Put not your Trust in Princes 120 

VIII. Despair 152 

IX. The Passion of Justice 184 

X. To the Mountains 215 

XI. Outlawed 235 

XII. Flourishing like a Bay-Tree 249 

XIII. The Banner Unfurled 289 

XIV. Gathering Strength 305 

XV. An Eye for an Eye 334 

XVI. The Avenger to the Rescue 872 

XVII. Signs of Failure 397 

XVIII. The Approaching Doom 422 

XIX. For the Right— In the Wrong 453 

XX. The Banner Soiled . * . 471 

XXI. “Vengeance is Mine” 493 

XXII. Paying the Penalty 511 









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LIBRARY 
OF THE 

SUP.*. COUNCIL, 
SO/JURISDICTION- 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


CHAPTER I. 


TO THE FRONT. 


ET the reader’s imagination carry him east- 



_i_J ward. Let him suppose lie were travelling 
at railway speed between Lemberg and Czernowitz, 
in a south-easterly direction, towards the sedgy 
shores of the river Pruth and the beech forests of 
the Bukowina, and the scenery to his left will appear 
changeless. His eye for miles will rest on a bound- 
less plain, of which the seasons can influence the 
colouring only, but never a feature of the landscape. 
White and dazzling in the winter, it rises to some- 
thing of a yellow brightness in the summer, wearing 
a neutral tint both in the autumn and spring. But 
on his right-hand each turn of the wheel will dis- 
close a new picture to his eyes. He is fast 
approaching the towering heights of the Carpa- 
thians. Mere phantoms at first, they assume shape 
and substance like gathering clouds on the horizon, 
the mountain chain with deepening contours 
advancing through the violet and purple vapours of 


2 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


distance. And if the traveller now were able to fix 
his gaze a while on the monotonous plain, with its 
grey cottages, its poverty-stricken fields, and dreary 
heathlands, his would he a grand surprise in turning 
once more to the right. The heights have closed in 
— giants they, proud and solemn in fir-clad majesty. 
The wind, sweeping along the mountain-sides, is 
laden with the odours of pinewood ; the air is filled 
with the roar of cataracts dashing through the 
gullies and foaming along the rocky channel by the 
side of the railway cutting ; and athwart the narrow 
bands of azure, which seem the bluer for the deep- 
rent glens beneath, may be seen wheeling the blood- 
thirsty kite of the Carpathians. The very heart of 
the mountain chain, silent and beautiful, lies open 
to view. A moment only, and it will have vanished. 
The railroad, starting off in a sharp curve to the 
east, leaves nothing to the beholder but to the right 
and to the left the self-same monotonous plain. A 
sudden bend of the lawless Pruth had rendered it 
necessary for the line to cut the landscape at the 
very point where mountain and plain stand facing 
each other — abrupt and unblending — like hatred and 
love in the heart of man. 

The spot in question — half-way between Colomea, 
the hill-crowned capital of the district, and Zablo- 
tow, a poor Jewish townlet of the plain — is within 
the parish boundary of Zulawce, a village not, how- 
ever, visible from the railway, its cottages, a couple 
of miles beyond, covering an eastern slope of the 
magnificent mountain range. The thatched dwell- 
ings are as poor as anywhere in that part of Galicia, 
not even the church or the manor house command- 
ing any attention. But all the more charming is the 
neighbourhood. Approaching the village from the 
Pruth, you reach its first outlying cottages without the 
effort of climbing, but by the time you have ascended 


TO THE FRONT. 


3 


to the furthermost dwellings you have a splendid 
lowland landscape at your feet — spreading fields of 
gold, verdant woods and heath-covered tracts, 
skirted by the Pruth as with a broad silver ribbon, 
the glittering rivulet of the Czerniawa winding 
between. And your eye will carry you further still, 
to the natural horizon, northward. But the eastern 
view is altogether different, and incomparably be- 
witching, the gloriously wooded hill-country of the 
Bukowina rising gradually, terrace upon terrace, 
from the deep-sunk valley of the Czeremosz. In- 
deed, this prospect, as seen from the village, is 
wondrously grand, a succession of gigantic steps, 
as it were, leading from earth toward heaven, the 
highest mountain-tops melting away in the ethereal 
blue. To the west and south the view is bounded 
by the “ Welyki Lys,” a gigantic mountain forest 
which separates Galicia from Hungary — dark and 
dreary, and unutterably monotonous. Nowhere in 
the lower Carpathians is there a spot to equal 
Zulawce for Nature’s variety, looking upon the 
village as a centre. 

But this is not all for which the place is note- 
worthy. Life there, on the whole, is regulated after 
the ways of the lowlands ; but the people them- 
selves approach the Huzul type — a peculiar race, in- 
habiting the mountains, and which, on account of 
the common language, is generally classed with the 
Kuthens, but being of a different origin and of 
different conditions of life is distinct from them, 
as in appearance so in habit and in character. 
The Huzul is a hybrid, uniting the Slavonic blood 
of the Ruthen with the Mongolian blood of the 
Uzen, his speech bewraying the former while his 
name testifies to the latter ; so also does the defiant 
dauntlessness of his bearing, hidden beneath an 
appearance of proud restraint, but apt to burst out 


4 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


suddenly, like a hot spring through the covering 
snow. The Euthens of the lowlands, on the con- 
trary, are purely Slavonic ; industrious therefore, 
enduring and very patient, not easily roused, but 
once the fire is kindled it will go on burning with 
a steady glow. These virtues, however, have sad 
vices for a reverse — a bluntness which is both dull 
and coarse, and an abject humility, bending the 
neck of the conquered man even lower than need 
be. An unfair load of hardships may be pleaded 
in their excuse. The Buthen for centuries 
bore the chains of serfdom, and these broken he 
continued the subject of some Polish nobleman, no 
law protecting his body, still less his goods, no 
mental culture reaching him whose soul received 
the barest crumbs of spiritual teaching. In this 
respect things, to be sure, went as ill with the 
Huzuls, but for the rest theirs was a life of liberty 
on the mountains, acknowledging no nobleman and 
no officer of the crown. Poorly enough they lived in 
the forest wilds, their sheep yielding milk and 
cheese, the barren soil a few oats for scarcely eat- 
able bread, while meat was within reach of him only 
who would stake his own life in killing a bear. 
To this day there are glens where no money 
has ever been seen ; for which reason it has never 
been thought worth while to levy taxes, the great 
lords remaining in the lowlands where the soil was 
fruitful and he who tilled it a slave. “ Within those 
mountains there are but bears to be found and a wild 
people called Uzels,” thus wrote a German explorer 
in the seventeenth century. He might have written 
it yesterday, for with the bear only does the Huzul 
share the sovereignty of the mountains, and his very 
freedom is no better than the liberty of the bear — 
yet liberty it is ! Thus the difference between the 
Euthens of the uplands and the Euthens of the 


TO THE FRONT. 


5 


plain is immense, and scarcely to be bridged over 
— free huntsmen up yonder, yoke-bearing bondmen 
below. 

“ No falcon can lived caged, no Huzul in bond- 
age,” says the proverb. The village of Zulawce 
appeared to give the lie to this saying, but only at 
first sight. The people there tilled the soil ; they 
went to church, paid tithes, and yielded forced 
labour; but for the rest they were Huzuls, and 
cousins-german to the bear-hunters of the Welyki 
Lys. They never forgot that they were men ; they 
chose to govern themselves, and did not hesitate to 
meet injustice with a bullet or a blow of the axe. 
The lord of the manor, old Count Henryk Borecki, 
knew this well enough, and though he might groan 
he never attempted to treat the peasants of Zulawce 
as he would treat the churls on his lowland pro- 
perty. Not that he was a gracious lord, but he was 
prudent ; and being a passionate huntsman himself, 
lie loved to spend the season on that borderland of 
the great forest, which led to many a scuffle, but 
open rupture there was none while he lived. 

When he had departed, matters grew worse. 
His son, Count George, never troubled the people 
with his presence, for he lived in Paris. He 
was a famous cavalier, devoting himself to the 
rising generation, so far as it was of the feminine 
gender, and given to dancing at Mabille. His far- 
off estates he only bore in mind when his purse 
was low ; for which reason, indeed, he thought of 
them as often and as anxiously as any pattern land- 
lord, keeping up a lively correspondence with his 
stewards in Podolia— money they must send him, 
or dismissed his service they should be. These 
unfortunate 4 4 mandatars ” had a hard time of it ; but 
they did their best, fleecing the peasants to the 
utmost, and keeping their stewardships. Now, the 


6 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


mandatar of Zulawce also, Mr. Severin Gonta, for 
all that can be told to the contrary, might have 
wished to adopt this plan; but having lived for 
twenty years in the village, and knowing the people 
and their knock-down propensities, he preferred 
having recourse to the cutting of my lord’s timber 
instead, sending the proceeds to Paris. Count 
George, however, in the pursuit of his noble 
passions, enlarged his friendships, admitting even 
usurers to the benefit of his private acquaintance. 

Thus it came about that Mr. Severin one day 
received the youthful landlord’s ultimatum : “Send 
me another thousand florins a year, or go to 
the devil.” Mr. Severin was soon resolved. 
He knew he had cut the timber till never 
a tree remained, and he preferred his bodily 
safety to the stewardship he held. So he 
quitted his post, being succeeded by the young 
Count’s private secretary, a certain Mr. Wenceslas 
Hajek. 

Mr. Wenceslas at the time — it was in the year of 
Grace 1835 — was a young man of eight-and-twenty, 
with an experience far beyond his years. A 
Bohemian by birth, he soon rose to the dignity of 
an imperial detective, and in recognition of his 
peculiar talents was sent to Italy as a spy. He had 
acquired a knowledge of French, and was known to 
have committed a daring robbery upon a privy 
councillor of Milan, for which achievement he was 
not, like an ordinary mortal, sent to prison as a 
thief, but to Paris on a secret mission for Prince 
Metternich. He duly reported to his government ; 
hut his was a sympathetic temperament, and, 
pitying the refugees, he failed not to report to them 
as well. For a while he flourished, receiving pay 
from both sides ; but being found out he was 
dismissed ignominiously. Thereupon he took a 


TO THE FRONT. 


7 


distaste for politics, establishing a private agency 
for nondescript transactions, the least doubtful of 
which were the arrangements he brought about 
between spendthrift nobles and their friends who 
lent upon usury. In this capacity he came to be 
introduced to Count George, who found him simply 
invaluable, appointing him his private secretary 
before long. Now, Mr. Wenceslas might thus have 
lived happily ever after, had his natural disposition 
not again played him the fool. He loved money, 
and took of his master’s what he could. Count 
George was helpless, since the rascal knew his every 
secret ; it was plain he could not dismiss him, but he 
promoted him to the stewardship of Zulawce. “ I 
don’t care how much of a blackguard he is, so long 
as he forwards my revenues,” this distinguished 
nobleman thought within himself, continuing his 
pursuits in Paris. 

It was in the month of May, 1835, that Wenceslas 
Hajek made his entry at Zulawce. He had scarcely an 
eye for the vernal splendour of the grand scenery which 
surrounded him ; but he certainly felt impressed on 
seeing the peasantry on horseback ready to receive 
him into their village. It was with a queer look of 
surprise that he gazed upon those giant figures with 
their piercing eagle eyes. They were clothed in 
their best, wearing brown woollen riding-coats, dark 
red breeches, black sandals, and high felt hats with 
waving pluumes, sitting their small spirited steeds as 
though they had grown together with them. Among 
mountaineers the Huzuls are the only equestrian 
people, and none of their Slavonic neighbours go 
armed, as they do, with the gun slung behind them, 
the pistol in the belt, and the battle-axe to hand. 
Mr. Wenceslas knew he trembled when these well- 
accoutred peasants approached his vehicle. He had 
intended to treat them to his most gracious smile, 


8 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


and smile he did, but it cost him an effort ending in 
a grin. 

Only one of the peasants bared his head — an old 
man, white-haired and of commanding stature, who 
lifted a proud face to the newcomer. He had 
pulled up by the carriage door, and his clear, 
undaunted eyes examined the features of the steward. 
That was Stephen Woronka, the, village judge. 
“ Newly-appointed mandatar,” he said, “you are 
sent by our lord ; therefore we greet you. You 
come from afar, and we are not known to you ; 
therefore, I say, we men of Zulawce do our duty by 
the Count, expecting him to do the same by us. 
Neither more nor less ! We greet you.” 

Mr. Hajek understood the import, for a Sla- 
vonic dialect had been the language of his child- 
hood, and on the long journey through Galicia he 
had had opportunity to pickup some of the country’s 
speech. But, more than the words, it was the 
spirit which impressed him, and he framed his 
answer accordingly. “ I shall be just,” he said ; 
“ neither more nor less ! I greet you.” 

The old judge waved his hat, and “ Urrahah ! ” 
cried the peasants, the shrill, crisp sound rising 
from two hundred throats. They discharged their 
pistols, and once more an exultant “Urrahah!” 
filled the air. It sounded like a war cry ; but peace- 
fully they turned their horses’ heads, and, together 
with the travelling carriage, proceeded to the village 
inn. 

There, on an open space beneath a mighty linden 
tree, the rest of the people stood waiting — old folk 
and lads, women and children — all wearing their 
Sunday best. When the carriage had stopped, and 
Mr. Hajek, still smiling, had alighted, he was met 
by the village priest, or pope, with a bow. The 
Beverend Martin Sustenkowicz was loyally inclined, 


TO THE FRONT. 


9 


and anxious to express his feelings in a proper 
speech, but somehow his intention often was 
beyond him ; and in the present instance, attempt- 
ing his salutation with unsteady feet, he bowed 
lower than he meant to, and speech there was 
none. Hajek took the will for the deed, and turned 
to an aged woman who offered bread and salt. 
He affably swallowed a mouthful, and thereupon 
ordered the innkeeper, Avrumko, in a stage whisper, 
to tap two casks of his schnaps. 

He fully believed thereby to please the people, 
and was not a little surprised at the judge’s depre- 
cating gesture. “With your leave, new mandat ar, 
we decline it,” said the latter. “ It may be all very 
well in the lowlands, but not with us. We men of 
Zulawce do not object to schnaps, hut only when 
we have paid for it ourselves ! ” 

There was something akin to scorn in the man- 
datar’s face, though he smiled again, saying : “ But 
my good people, I am here to represent Count 
George, your gracious lord. Is not he your little 
father? and you are the children who may well 
receive his bounty.” 

The old judge shook his head. “ It may he so 
in the lowlands,” he repeated, “hut we are no 
children, with your leave, and the Count is nowise 
our father. We are peasants, and he is lord of the 
manor ; we expect justice, and will do our duty, 
that is all ! ” 

“ But my good judge, Mr. Stephen ” 

“ Begging your pardon,” interrupted the latter 
yet again. “ This also is of the lowlands, where 
they * Mister ’ one another. I am plain Stephen * 

* These mountaineers, like the Tirolese, know but one pronoun 
in addressing high or low, the " Thou ” being used throughout the 
story in the original ; but their straightforward simplicity may be 
sufficiently apparent, though substituting the English “ You.” 

1 * 


10 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


up here. And how should you know that I am 
good? We would rather not be beholden to you. 
We will drink the Count’s health, paying for it our- 
selves.” 

He beckoned to the innkeeper ; great cans full of 
the beverage were brought speedily, and the people 
sitting or standing about were nowise loth to fall 
to. Hajek felt posed, but once more he recovered 
himself, and went about among the villagers, smiling 
right and left. But the more he smiled, the darker 
he grew within. He really began to feel afraid 
of these proud, gaunt creatures, with their un- 
daunted eyes. And he did not like the look of 
their arms. Why, every one of these * subjects,* 
as the Galician peasant in those days was styled 
in official language, carried a small arsenal on his 
body. 

‘‘Why do you go about with pistols?” he in- 
quired of the judge. 

“ We like it, and may require it,” was the curt 
reply. 

“ Require it ! ” said the mandatar, with the smile 
of innocence. “ Why, what for ? ” 

“ You may find that out for yourself some day,” 
said old Stephen, and turned away. 

Hajek shivered, but overcame the feeling, passing 
a benevolent look over the assembly. "They were 
engaged with their schnaps now and heeded him 
not. One of them only — a tall, lean fellow with 
shaggy red hair — stared at him with an expression 
of unmitigated dislike. 

The mandatar went up to him, inquiring mildly, 
“ Who are you, my friend ? ” 

“ The devil may be your friend,” retorted the man 
grimly. “Iam Schymko Trudak — ‘ Red Schymko ; ’ 
but what is that to you? ” 

“ Well, am I not one of yourselves now?” returned 


TO THE FRONT. 


11 


Hajek still anxious to conciliate. But he began to 
see it was no easy matter, and he cast a discon- 
certed look about him. 

His eye alighted on a man who carried no arms, 
and otherwise appeared of a different stamp. Tall 
and powerful like the rest of them, his expression 
was gentle ; he was fair-haired, and his eyes were 
blue. He wore a white fur coat with gay-coloured 
broidered facings, a black fur cap, and high boots — 
the holiday garb of the Podolian peasant. Hajek 
went up to him. The man took off his cap and 
bowed. 

“ What is your name ? ” 

“ Taras Barabola.” 

“ Do you live in this village ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Not in service, surely? ” 

“ No ! ” and as modestly as though he were but a 
farm labourer, the young peasant added : “ I own 
the largest farm but one of the place.” 

“ But you are from the lowlands ? ” 

“ Yes ; I came from Bidowa.” 

“ Then what made you settle here ? ” 

“I — I — loved — I mean, I married into the farm,” 
he said with a blush. 

“ Do you approve of these people? ” 

The young man reddened again, but replied : 
“ They are different from those we are used to in 
the plain, but not therefore bad.” 

“ I wish they were more like you ! ” said the 
mandatar fervently, and passed on. He would, in- 
deed, have liked them to be different ; more humble, 
and not carrying arms for possible requirements — 
more like this Taras in short ! 

And presently, looking from the window of his 
comfortable room in the manor house, he examined 
with a queer smile the thickness of its walls. “ A 


12 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


stout building,” he muttered ; “ who knows what it 
may be good for ? Still, this were but poor com- 
fort if things came to the worst. As for playing the 
hero, I have never done it ; but the son of my mother 
is no fool ! I must act warily, I see ; but I’ll teach 
these blockheads what a ‘ subject * is, and I shall 
take care of myself i ” 


CHAPTER II, 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 

T HE ensuing weeks passed quietly. The people 
gave their turns of work * for the Count as they 
had always done, but the mandatar did not appear 
to take much notice. For days he would be absent 
in the district town, or in the villages round about, 
amusing himself with the officers of the Imperial 
service. The peasants hardly ever saw him, but 
they spoke of him the more frequently. On the 
day of his entry they had made up their minds that 
the new bailiff was a sneak, “ but we shall be up to 
his tricks ; ” yet, somehow he rose in their estima- 
tion. True, there were those — the old judge to begin 
with — who continued in their distrust, but a more 
generous spirit prevailed with many as the days wore 
on. “ Let us be just,” they said ; “ he has done us 
no harm so far.” And being laughed at by the less 
confident they would add : “ Well, Taras thinks so 
too, so we cannot be far wrong ! ” This appeared to 
be a vantage ground of defence which the opponents 
knew not how to assail ; old Stephen only would re- 
tort, angrily, “It is past understanding how this' 
lamb of the lowlands should have got the better of 
every bear among us up here. But you will be the 
worse for it one of these days, you will see ! ” 

* Forced labour, a reminiscence of villanage, surviving in 
Slavonic countries. 


14 


FOE THE BIGHT. 


The judge spoke truth; it was a marvellous 
influence which the young stranger had acquired 
in the village, and well-nigh incredible considering 
the people he had to deal with. But if a miracle it 
was, it had come about by means of the rarest of 
charms, by the spell emanating from a heart, the 
wondrous honesty of which was equalled only by 
its wondrous strength — a heart which had but grown 
in goodness and true courage because its lot had 
been cast amid sorrows which would have brought 
most men to ruin or despair. 

Taras Barabola was born at Bidowa, a village 
near Barnow, the son of a poor servant girl whose 
lover had been carried off as a recruit and remained 
in the army, preferring the gay life of a soldier to 
hard labour at home. Amid the hot tears of afflic- 
tion the deserted mother brought up her child, and 
not only trouble, but shame, stood by his cradle. 
Bor the Podolian peasant does not judge lightly of 
the erring one, and his sense of wrong can be such 
that Mercy herself would plead with him in vain. 
It was long before the unhappy girl found shelter 
for pity’s sake, and little Taras, from his earliest 
days, had to suffer for no other reason but that his 
father was a scoundrel. It appeared to be meri- 
torious with the people of Kidowa to scold and 
buffet the frightened child, as though that were 
indeed a means of proving their own respectability 
and combating the growth of sin. None but them- 
selves would have been to blame if, by such treat- 
ment of the boy, they had reared a criminal in him, 
to be the disgrace and scourge of the village. 
But it was not so with Taras, because amid 
all his trouble a rare good fortune had been 
given him. The poor servant girl that bore 
him was possessed of a heroic spirit. And when 
the little boy followed his mother to church, 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 15 

she standing humbly in the porch, whilst he, child- 
like, would steal forward till the sexton flung him 
back as though his very breath defiled the sacred 
precincts ; or when attempting to join other chil- 
dren in their play about the streets he was kicked 
away like a rabid dog, and nothing seemed left but 
to take his grief to the one heart beating for him in 
a cruel world ; — that heart would grew strong in 
the suffering woman, lending her words so gene- 
rous, so wise, that one could have believed in 
inspiration were not a mother’s love in itself 
grand enough to be the fount of things noble and 
true. Many a one in her position would have 
bewailed her child — would have taught him to lay 
the blame upon others, sowing the seeds of coward- 
liness and revenge. But she — well, she did cry ; 
no child ever was more bitterly wept over ; but this 
is what she said : “ Taras, grow up good ! Do not 
hate them because of their unkindness, for it is 
deserved! Nay, my child, if you suffer, it is 
because your father and I have wronged them ; they 
think ill of you for fear you should become what we 
were ! Yet you are but a child, knowing neither 
good nor evil, and all they can say against you is 
that you are the child of your parents ; that is why 
they ill-treat you ! But one day you will show 
them what you are yourself, and they will then 
treat you accordingly, after your own deserts ! 
And, therefore, oh, my child, do not repay them 
with evil : be good and do the right, and they will 
love you ! ” 

Thus she wept, thus she entreated him, and, 
young as he was, her words were engraven on his 
brain and sunk deep into his soul. It was not in 
vain that, in order to save her child, she had staked 
the one thing left to her in life — the love of that 
child. Her own great love for him was her safe- 


16 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


guard that his hatred for others, which she strove 
against, should not fall back upon her, who owned 
herself guilty, and for whom she said he suffered. 
Taras continued to love his mother ; and when he 
inquired what it could have been whereby she had 
wronged all the righteous people, and she told him 
he was too young to understand, he was satisfied. 
But her words lived in his heart, laying the founda- 
tion of a marvellous development of character, 
teaching him, at an age when other children think 
but of eating and playing, that he must believe the 
world to be just, and that his own act must be the 
umpire of reward or punishment to follow. Thus 
he suffered ill-will without bitterness, but also, know- 
ing he had not himself deserved it, without hu- 
miliation ; and when, having reached his tenth year, 
he was chosen to be the gooseherd of the village — 
not, indeed, with the goodwill of all, but simply 
because no other serviceable lad had offered — he 
burned with a desire to gain for himself commenda- 
tion and approval. And he did gain it, because he 
worked for it bravely, but also because of a fearful 
experience which happened to him about a twelve- 
month later, shaking his young soul to its inmost 
depth. 

It was an autumnal morning ; he had driven forth 
his geese with the grey dawn as usual. They fed 
on a lonely common ; a cross stood there by the 
side of a pond, but not a cottage within hail, and 
the foot-path which traversed it was rarely used. 
The boy had his favourite seat on a stone by the 
water, at the foot of the cross; he was sitting 
there now contentedly eating some of the bread 
which his mother had given him, and whist- 
ling between whiles on a reed-pipe he had made 
for himself. 

He was startled by a heavy footfall, and, turning, 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 17 

grew pale, for he that approached him was a spiteful, 
wicked old man, Waleri Kostarenko by name, one 
of the worst of those who delighted in bullying him. 
“Yon are hut a cur ! ” he would call out when the 
lad passed his farm, and more than once he had set 
his dogs at him. And one day, finding him at play 
with his own grandchildren, he beat him so 
mercilessly that the little fellow could scarcely limp 
home for bruises. Nor was it any regard for 
morality he could plead in wretched excuse. 
Taras’s mother had been a servant on his farm, and 
had been proof against his wiles, so he was the first 
to cry shame when trouble overtook her, and like a 
fiend he delighted in ill-using her child. Taras got 
out of his way whenever he could, and on the 
present occasion took to his sturdy little legs, as 
though pursued by the caitiff’s dogs. It was not 
merely the loneliness of the place which made it 
advisable to seek refuge in flight, but the fact 
that the old man, as the boy had seen in spite 
of his terror, w r as in a worse condition than usual. 
There had been a merry-making the day before 
in a neighbouring village, and his unsteady feet 
showed plainly that the power of drink was upon 
him. 

“Is it you, little toad?” he roared, “I’ll catch 
you ! ” But the boy was too fleet for him, and he 
knew pursuit was vain. “Lord’s sake,” he cried, 
suddenly, “ I have sprained my foot ! Taras, for 
pity’s sake, help me to yon stone ! ” 

The boy turned and looked ; the old man had 
sunk to his knee, a picture of suffering, and the boy 
did pity him, coming back accordingly. “ What is 
it ? ” he said, “ what can I do for you ? ” At which 
Waleri, bursting upon him, caught him exultingly. 
" Have I got you ? ” he shrieked, clutching his hair 
and treating him mercilessly. 


18 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ For heaven’s sake,” cried Taras, “ spare me!” 
But pity there was none with the old wretch ; 
beside himself with hatred, he held the boy with 
one arm, ill-using him with the other wherever his 
fist could fall. Taras struggled vainly for awhile, 
but with a wrench of despair he got free at last. He 
escaped. Waleri ran after him for a step or two. The 
geese were wild with terror, and one of the creatures 
had got between the man’s feet ; he fell heavily, knock- 
ing his head against the stone by the cross. The boy 
heard a piercing cry ; he saw that his enemy was on 
the ground, but not till he had reached the further 
end of the common did he turn once more to look 
back. The old man lay motionless by the stone, 
the geese pressed about him, stretching their 
necks with a noisy cackle. He felt tolerably 
safe now from his enemy, for even if it were but 
another trick of his meanness he could scarcely 
overtake him at that distance ; but as he stood 
and gazed a wild fear fell upon the boy, his heart 
beating violently. 

“ He is dead ! ” The thought flashed through 
him as a shock of lightning, and he felt dragged 
back to the scene helplessly. He retraced his steps 
towards the cross, and stood still within ten yards 
or so. A cry burst from him of pure horror — he saw 
the blood trickling over the upturned face. He 
pressed together his lips, and went close — slowly, 
tremblingly — quite close. The man was evidently 
unconscious, his face corpse-like and fearful to look 
at ; there was a deep cut on the forehead, and the 
purple blood flowed copiously over the distorted 
face, trickling to the ground. 

The boy stood still with labouring breath, as 
though spellbound. Horror and disgust, joy, scorn, 
revenge, and yet again compassion, went through 
him, the good rising uppermost in the great con- 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 


19 


flict that shook his soul. He thought of his mother, 
and bending down to the water he bathed the 
forehead of the unconscious man. The blood kept 
flowing. He tore off the sleeve of his shirt, and, 
making a bandage, pressed it upon the wound. 
Waleri groaned, but did not open his eyes. “ He is 
dying ! ” thought Taras, but strove as best he could 
to stop the bleeding, crying for help at the same 
time with all his might. 

A young peasant, the son-in-law of the village 
judge, riding by at some distance, heard his calling — 
the wind lengthening out the sound. He came dash- 
ing up, and what he saw might well fill him with 
surprise. “ And you, Taras — you trying to save 
him ! ” he cried, when the boy had told his story 
simply and truthfully. It was more than he could 
understand. But he turned to the sufferer, send- 
ing Taras to the village for assistance. The boy 
returned with the judge himself, together with 
Waleri’s son and some of his servants. 

They took up the wounded man and carried him 
to his home, the judge looking at the boy repeatedly 
with unfeigned wonder. “ Taras,” he said at last, 
“ I think if He whom they call the Christ were 
alive, He would just be proud of you, I do indeed ! 
That is to say, we are told He is alive, and I dare- 
say He will repay you for this ! ” At which the boy 
blushed crimson, remembering what a struggle it 
had cost him ; he did not deserve any praise, he 
thought. 

But from this hour the people thought well of him 
in the village ; all were anxious to show their approval, 
and those that had spoken kindly of him before were 
quite proud of their discriminating wisdom. Waleri 
recovered, continuing to hate him ; but this utter 
ingratitude made others the more anxious to befriend 
him. The judge especially, henceforth, stood by the 


20 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


lad, giving him a place as under-servant on his own 
farm; and, he being looked upon as the chief 
authority of the village, his example told naturally. 
But of far more consequence than these things was 
the influence of that occurrence upon the inner 
growth of the boy. So far, he had simply believed 
his mother, that one must deserve kindness by being 
good ; now he knew it by his own experience. 
“ Yes,” he said to himself, “ justice is the foundation 
of things ; ” and more than ever he tried to fulfil his 
every duty to the utmost. But the golden opinions 
he gathered were his gain in a double sense ; for there 
is no greater help toward well-doing than the know- 
ledge that one is believed in, and all the clearer grew 
that fair creed within him which his mother had 
taught him concerning the world and its retribution. 
What at first had been only a sort of -childish 
self-interest, grew to be the very backbone of his 
character : he could not but try and be good, 
just, and helpful. It could be said of him, with- 
out a shade of flattery, that no servant-lad ever 
had been so well behaved as he ; and when his 
mother died, the fifteen-year-old youth had as many 
comforters and friends as there were people in the 
village. The stain on his birth even grew to be 
cause of praise. “ Why, look you,” the judge would 
say, “ this boy is really no proper child at all; any- 
how he is quite unfathered, and could be as rascally 
as he pleased, for there’s none to cast it up to him. I 
might give him a box on the ear at times, but that 
could not make up for a father’s thrashing. And, in 
the face of all this, this Taras is just the best boy in 
the village. He will be a great man one of these 
days, I tell you ! My prophecies always come true — 
you will find out what stuff he is made of before you 
have done with him, and then please remember I 
said so.” 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 21 

And the time came when the young man gave 
evidence of the stuff within him, hut that which 
brought it out was a sore trial to the brave-hearted 
youth. He was barely eighteen, and had come to be 
a ploughman on the judge’s farm, when one day the 
Imperial constables brought an old soldier into the 
village, Hritzko Stankiewicz by name, a wretched 
creature with a worn-out body and a rotten soul. 
Begging and stealing, he had found his way from 
Italy to Galicia, where the police had picked him 
up, and now he was being delivered over to his own 
parish of Bidowa. It was Taras’s father. The judge, 
in well-meant pity, was for concealing this from the 
young man, but the latter had heard the name 
often enough from his mother, and he went at once 
to the gaol where the vagabond had been located. 
The wretched man quaked when his son stood 
before him, and fearing he had come to take 
vengeance for his mother, the miserable coward 
took refuge in denial, insulting the woman he had 
ruined in her grave. Pale as death, and trembling, 
Taras went out from him, and for several days 
he went about the village mute and like one 
demented. 

The following Sunday after church the men of 
the parish gathered beneath the linden tree in front 
of the village inn, after the usage of times im- 
memorial, the day’s question being what had best 
be done with the returned vagabond. “It seems 
plain,” said the judge, “that we cannot keep the 
thieving beggar in our midst. Let us send him to 
Lemberg, paying for his maintenance. He won’t 
like it ; but it is a great deal more than he has 
deserved. It is the best device, I warrant.” The 
men agreed. “ It is,” they cried, lifting their right 
hand in token of assent. 

At this moment Taras stepped forth. His face 


22 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


was ghastly, as though he had risen from a sick- 
bed. “Ye men,” he cried, with choked voice, 
folding his hands, “ pity me ; listen to me ! ” But 
tears drowned what further he had to say, and he 
sank to his knees. 

“ Don’t, don’t ! ” they all cried, full of compassion, 
“ you need not mind, we all know what a good 
fellow you are.” 

But Taras shook his head, and with a great 
effort stood upright among them. “ I have to 
mind,” he cried, “ and in my mother’s behalf I am 
here, speaking because she no longer can speak ! 
He is my father though he denies it ! Only him 
she trusted, because he was her affianced lover, and 
never another ! If I were silent in this matter, it 
might be thought of her that after all she was a bad 
woman, and her son does not know his own father. 
Therefore, I say, listen to me : I do know ! and as 
my mother’s son I take it upon me to provide 
for my father. Do not put him into the work- 
house, he cannot work. And if I take care of 
him, he will not be a burden to the village. For 
God’s sake, then, have pity on me — and leave him 
here ! ” 

There was a long pause of silence, and then the 
judge said, addressing the men : “ We should be 
worse than hard-hearted if we refused him. But 
we will not be gainers thereby ; the parish shall pay 
for Hritzko what it would cost us did we send him 
to Lemberg. It shall be as this good son desires ; 
and God’s blessing be upon him ! ” 

For eight years after, the miserable wretch lived 
in the village. It was a time of continued suffering 
for Taras. Every joy of youth he renounced, 
striving day and night to meet the old man’s 
exactions ; and all the reward he ever had was 
hatred and scorn ; but he never tired of his 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 23 

voluntary work of love. “ My mother has borne 
more than that for me,” he would say, when others 
praised him. “ One could not have believed how 
good a fellow can be ! ” said the people of Eidowa, 
some adding in coarse, if real pity, “ ’Twere a kind- 
ness if some one killed the old beggar ! ” But the 
suggested “ kindness ” came about by his own doing 
— he drank himself to death. At the age of six-and- 
twenty Taras was free. 

“Now you must get yourself into a snug farm by 
marriage,” advised the judge. “ You understand 
your business, you are a well-favoured fellow, and, 
concerning your character, my Lord Golochowski 
himself might say to you : ‘ Here is my daughter, 
Taras, and if you take her it will be an honour to 
the family ! ’ There is that buxom Marinia, for 
instance, the sexton’s girl ; or that pretty creature, 
Kasia ” 

But Taras shook his head, and his, blue eyes 
looked gloomy. “ Life here has gone too hard with 
me,” he said, “ for me to seek happiness in this 
place ! A thousand thanks for all your kindness ; 
but go I must ! ” And they could not get him to 
change his mind ; he looked about for a situation 
elsewhere. 

Two places offered — the one with the peasant, 
Iwan Woronka, at Zulawce, the brother of Judge 
Stephen ; the other with a parish priest on the 
frontier. Pay and work in both places was the 
same. He would he head-servant in both, and 
pretty independent; the latter for the same sad 
reason — that both the peasant and the priest w^ere 
given to drink. Nor could he come to any deci- 
sion in the matter by a personal inspection of the 
farms, for really there was no preference either 
way. So he resolved to submit his fate to that most 
innocent kind of guidance which, with those people, 


24 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


decides many a step in life. He would take the 
priest’s offer if it rained on the following Sunday, 
and he would go to I wan if it were fine. But the 
day of his fate poured such floods of sunshine about 
him that doubt there could be none, and he went to 
Zulawce. 

It was no easy beginning for the stranger. The 
people laughed at him freely, his garb and his ways 
differing so entirely from their own ; they even 
called him a coward because he carried no arms 
and spoke respectfully of Count Borecki as the lord 
of the manor. The fact was that Taras just con- 
tinued to be the man he had always been, taking 
their sneers quietly, and the management of the 
farm entrusted to him was his only care. Iwan 
Woronka was old and enfeebled, his tottering steps 
carrying him a little way only, to the village inn, 
his constant resort. It was natural, therefore, that 
the farm had been doing badly. His only son had 
died, and Anusia, his daughter, had striven vainly 
to save the property from ruin. She blessed the day 
when the new head-servant took matters in hand, 
if no one else did ; for not many weeks passed 
before the traces of his honest diligence grew ap- 
parent everywhere. “ He understands his business,” 
even Iwan must own, though over his tipple he 
kept muttering that the sneaking stranger was too 
much for him. But that Taras was neither a 
coward nor a sneak all the village soon had proof 
of, when on a bear hunt, with not a little danger to 
himself, he saved the old judge’s life, killing a 
maddened brute by a splendid shot in close en- 
counter. This and his evident ability in the fulfil- 
ment of his duties gained him most hearts before 
long. “You are a good fellow, Podolian,” the 
people would say ; and not a year had passed before 
they swore behind his back that there was no 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 25 

mistake about his being a real acquisition to the 
village. 

Anusia said nothing. She was a handsome girl 
of the true Huzul type, tall, shapely, lissom, with 
dark, fiery eyes. High-spirited and passionate in all 
things, her partiality for the silent stranger made 
her shy and diffident. She went out of his way, 
addressing him only when business required. He 
saw it, could not understand, and felt sad. Now, 
strange to say — at least it took him by surprise — 
by reason of this very sadness he discovered that 
Anusia was pleasant to behold. It quite startled 
him, and it made him shy in his turn when he had 
to speak to her. But one day, riding about the 
farm, he without any palpable reason caught him- 
self whispering her name. That was more startling 
still, and he felt inclined to box his own ears, call- 
ing himself a fool for his pains. “You idiot!” 
he said, “ your master’s daughter, and she hating 
you moreover!” And having mused awhile, 
he added philosophically — “ Love is only a sort 
of feeling for folk that have nothing to do. 
Some drink by way of a pastime, and some fall 
in love.” He really believed it; his life had been 
so sunless hitherto, that no flower for him could 
grow. 

Well, love may be a sort of feeling, but Taras 
found that he could do nothing but just give in. 
Then it happened, one bright spring morning, that 
he was walking on a narrow footpath over the 
sprouting cornfields, Anusia coming along from the 
other end. 

“ How shall I turn aside?” they both thought; 
yet neither quite liked to strike off through the 
budding grain. 

“ ’Twere a pity to trample upon the growing 
blades,” murmured he, and proceeded slowly. 

2 


26 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ It is father’s cornfield,” whispered she, and her 
feet carried her toward him. 

Presently they came to a standstill, face to 
face. 

“ Why don’t you move out of my way?” she said, 
angrily. 

He felt taken aback, and was silent. 

“I have been looking over the fields — the wheat 
by the river might be better,” continued the 
damsel. 

“ It might,” owned he, “ but it is not my 
fault.” 

“ Is it mine?” cried she. 

“ No, the field was flooded.” 

“ That is your excuse ! ” retorted the maiden. 
“ I think the seed was bad. You are growing care- 
less ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said he, standing erect, “ I can look for 
another place, if that is all.” He quite trembled. 
“ I believe I hate her,” he said to himself. 

“Yes, go! go!” she cried, her bosom heaving, 
and the hot tears starting to her eyes. Another 
moment, and they had caught one another, heart 
to heart and lip to lip. How it could happen so 
quickly they never knew. But the occurrence is 
not supposed to be unprecedented in the history 
of this planet. 

It was a happy hour amid the sun-flooded fields. 
They both believed they had to make up for no end 
of past unkindness. But, being sensible, they soon 
took a matter-of-fact view. 

“ You will just have to marry me, now,” said 
Anusia ; “ it is the one thing to be done. I will at 
once tell my father.” 

And so she did; but Iwan Woronka unfortunately 
did not consider her marrying his head-servant the 
one thing to be done. She was his only child and 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 


27 


his heiress to boot, and he had long decided she 
should marry his nephew Harasim, Judge Stephen’s 
son — a young man who might have been well 
enough hut for his repellent countenance and his 
love for drink. But Iwan argued, “ Good looks 
are no merit, and drinking no harm ; 99 and there- 
with he turned Taras off his farm. 

The poor fellow went his way without venturing 
to say good-bye to Anusia, or letting her know 
where he could be heard of. It cost him a hard 
battle with himself ; hut he knew the girl’s 
passionate temper, and he wanted to act honestly 
by his master. But the victory was not thus easily 
got. 

It was some two months later, a splendid summer 
night. The moon was weaving her mellow charm 
about the heathlands, lighting up the old tin-plated 
tower of the castle at Hankowce with a mysterious 
light, till it sparkled and shone like a silver column. 
It was the abode of Baron Alfred Zborowski, and 
Taras had found service there as coachman and 
groom. He did not sleep in the stables at this time 
of the year, hut on the open heath, where the 
remains of a watchfire glowed like a heap ol gold 
amid the silvery sheen. A number of horses were 
at large about him. 

The night was pleasantly cool, but the poor fellow 
had a terrible burning at the heart as he lay wakeful 
by the glowing embers, thinking of her who was far 
away. There was a sound of hoofs suddenly break- 
ing upon the night, and a figure on horseback 
appeared with long hair streaming on the wind. 
“ Good heavens ! ” cried the young man trembling ; 
“ is it you, Anusia ? ” 

“ Taras ! ” was the answer, and no more. 

She glided from her horse, and his arms were 
about her. 


28 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ Here I am, and here I shall stay,” she said at 
last. “ I have scarcely left the saddle since yester- 
day. It was Jacek, the fiddler, that told me where I 
should find you. I shall not return to my father — 
not without you. And if you will not go back with 
me you must just keep me here. I cannot live 
without you, and I will not — do you hear ? I will 
not ! I want to be happy ! ” 

She talked madly — laughing, crying on his neck. 
And then she slid to the ground, clasping his knees. 
But he stood trembling. He felt as though he were 
surrounded by a flood of waters, the ground being 
taken from under his feet. His fingers closed con- 
vulsively, till the nails entered the quick — he shut 
his eyes and set his teeth. Thus he stood silent, 
but breathing heavily, and then a shiver went 
through him ; he opened his eyes and lifted up the 
girl at his feet. “ Anusia,” he said, gently but 
firmly, “ I love you more than I love myself ! and 
therefore I say I shall take you back to-morrow as 
far as the Pruth, where we can see your father’s 
house, and then I shall leave you. But till then ” 
— he drew a deep breath, and continued with sinking 
voice, “ till then you must stay with an old widow I 
know in this village. I will show you the way now ; 
she will see to your wants.” 

The girl gazed at him helplessly, passing her hand 
across her forehead once, twice ; and then she 
groaned, “It is beyond me — do you despise me? — 
turn me from you ? ” 

“ No ! ” he cried ; “but I will not drag you down 
to misery and disgrace. If you stayed here, Anusia, 
you could only be a servant-girl in the village where 
I work. We should suffer — but that is nothing! 
Marry one another we cannot ; not while your father 
lives, for the Church requires his consent. You 
could only be my — my . Anusia, I dare not ! ” 


SHE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 29 

Whereupon she drew herself up proudly, looking 
him full in the face. “ I am a girl of unblemished 
name,” she said. “ If I am satisfied to be near 
you ” 

‘‘You! you!” he gasped, “what do you know 
about it ? You are an honest girl ! But I — good 

God, my mother . Go! go!” And there was 

a cry of despair ; then he recovered himself. “ God 
help me, Anusia, it must be. The woman that 
will take care of you now lives next door to the 
church, the old sexton’s widow, Anna Paulicz — this 
way ! ” 

The girl probably but half understood him. As 
in a dream she moved toward her horse, seized the 
bridle, and turned back to Taras mechanically. 

She stood before him. Her face was white as 
death ; she opened her colourless lips once, twice, as 
though to speak, but sound there was none. At 
last, with an effort, a hoarse whisper broke from 
her, “ I hate you ! ” 

“ Anusia ! ” he cried, staggering. But answer 
there was none — the thundering footfall of a horse 
only dying away in the night. 

Harvest had come and the harvest-home. The 
Jewish fiddlers played their merry tunes in the 
courtyard of the castle at Hankowce, and far into 
the evening continued the dancing and jumping and 
huzzaing of the reapers. The baron and his coach- 
man were perhaps the only two of all the village 
who took no pleasure in the revelry — the one because 
he had to provide the schnaps and mead that were 
being consumed, the other because his heart was 
nowise attuned to it. 

Dreary weeks had passed since that impassioned 
meeting on the heath, but the girl’s parting words 
kept ringing in poor Taras’s ear. “It is all at an 


30 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


end,” he said, “ and no nse in worrying.” But he 
kept worrying, and that she should hate him was an 
undying grief to his heart. It was little comfort 
that he could say to himself, “You have done well, 
Taras ; it is better to be unhappy than to be a 
villain.” 

Comfort ? nay, there was none ! for what self- 
conscious approval could lessen the wild longings, 
the deep grief of his love? And so he went his 
way sadly, doing his duty and feeling more lonely 
than ever. He did not grudge others their merrv- 
heartedness, but the noisy expression of it hurt 
him. For this reason he kept aloof on that day, 
busying himself about his horses, plaiting their 
manes with coloured ribands, but anxious to take no 
personal part in the feast. But the shouts of delight 
would reach him, clashing sorely with his sorrowing 
heart. Then the poor fellow shut the stables, and, 
going up to his favourite horse, a fine chestnut, he 
pressed his forehead against the creature’s neck, sob- 
bing like a forsaken child. 

He was yet standing in this position when a well- 
known voice reached his ear — a man’s voice, but it 
sent the blood to his face. Could he be dreaming ? 
but no, there it was again, and a ponderous knock- 
ing against the door, which he had locked. He 
made haste to open — it was Stephen Woronka, the 
judge. 

Taras was unable to speak, and the old man on his 
part could only nod. He looked mournful. “ Come ! ” 
he said, after a brief pause that seemed filled with 
pain. 

“ Where to ? ” faltered Taras. 

The judge appeared to consider explanation need- 
less. “ I have already spoken with your master ; he 
allows you to go on the spot. Your things can come 
after you. My horses are ready to start.” 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 31 

“ I cannot,” murmured Taras, turning a step 
aside. 

Old Stephen nodded, as though this were just the 
answer he expected. “But you must,” he said, 
“ we cannot let the girl die, Iwan and me. It is no 
light thing for us, to let her marry you, for you have 
justnothing — a poor stranger — and,” he added, with a 
sigh, “ my Harasim might be saved by a good wife. 
However, we have no choice now and neither have 
you ! ” 

“ Then she is ill? ” shrieked Taras. 

“Yes — very; come at once.” And such was 
Stephen’s hurry that he barely allowed Taras to take 
his leave of the baron. The judge drove, and so 
little he spared his horses, that the vehicle shot 
along the moon-lit roads like a thing demented. 

“Let me take the reins,” said Taras, after a 
while. 

“ No ! ” returned the judge sharply, adding more 
gently, as though in excuse: “Anxiety would kill 
me if I were at leisure.” 

“ Then she is dying ! ” groaned the young man in 
despair. 

“ The Lord knows ! ” replied old Stephen huskily. 
“ We can hut do our duty in fetching you. Though 
she will not see you, she says, raving continually 
that she will kill you or kill herself if ever you come 
near her. . . . What is it that took place between 
you?” he cried, raising his voice suddenly and turn- 
ing a menacing countenance upon Taras. 

“ That I must not tell,” returned the latter 
firmly. 

The judge gazed at him angrily, but nodded again, 
“ I am a fool to ask you,” he murmured. “ You 
have either been a great villain'to her, or — or — just 
very good. . . . Whatever it was, it is between you 
two, and you must settle it with her.” 


32 


FOB THE RIGHT. 


Nothing more was spoken that night. In the 
early morning, when the horses where having a most 
needful rest, they only exchanged some indifferent 
remarks. And starting once more, they hastened 
towards the purple hills, as fast as the panting 
creatures could carry them. But it was evening 
before they crossed the Pruth and approached the 
village. The air was sultry ; clouds hung low in 
the heavens, hiding the moon. 

The judge pulled up before they reached Iwan’s 
farm. Taras dismounted. “ I thank yon ! ” he 
cried, seeking to grasp the old man’s hand. 

But Stephen withdrew it, shaking his head. 
“ I cannot be wroth with you,” he said, “ but there 
are things that go hard with a man. . . . You 

don’t owe me any thanks, however. I have now 
repaid you for that shot of yours which saved my 
life. We are quits.” 

“ But I shall thank you while I live,” cried Taras, 
walking away quickly in the direction of Iwan’s 
farm. He stood by the door with bated breath ; it 
was opened for him before he could put his hand on 
the latch, by I wan Woronka. 

“ She — she is alive? ” faltered Taras. 

“ Yes, but only that. Step in softly, she knows 
nothing of your coming.” 

He did step in softly, but his heart laboured 
wildly. The room was lit with a subdued light, and 
he could barely distinguish the figure of the stricken 
girl. 

“Who is coming?” she cried, with trembling 
accents. “ Who is it ? ” once more, with awe- 
burdened voice. 

But answer she needed none. A terrible cry 
burst from her, and darting like a wraith from 
her couch she flew past him, vanishing in the 
night. 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 


33 

He followed her ; but the hiding darkness with- 
out was such that he could scarcely keep in sight 
the white glimmer of her figure, although she was 
but a few yards ahead of him, on her way to the 
river. His hair stood on end when he knew the 
direction she took, and his every limb felt paralysed. 
It was but a few seconds, but she gained on him, 
and he saw he could not reach her in time. 

“ For God’s sake, stop ! ” he cried, with the voice 
of horror ; “ you shall never see me again.” 

But it was too late. He saw the white figure sink, 
and rise again mid-stream. He was in after her, 
and reaching her, caught her by a tress of her 
floating hair. She struggled violently to free her- 
self from his hand, and it could only have been the 
maddest despair that gave her the power. But he 
kept fast his hold — it was all he could do ; and thus 
they were carried awhile, side by side, on the bosom 
of the icy mountain stream. Taras felt his grasp 
grow weaker in his two-fold struggle against the 
river and against the girl. A fearful picture flashed 
through his brain ; he saw himself and his loved one 
two corpses washed ashore, old Stephen bending 
over them in sorrow. The pangs of death seemed 
upon him, but he held fast the tress of hair, 
and with his arm strove to keep himself and her 
afloat. 

She yielded at last, her body floating as he pulled 
her ; the power of life seemed to have left her, and 
with a mighty effort he brought her to land. 

They were fearful days that followed. A burning 
fever ran its course in the girl’s body, but the 
sickness of her soul seemed more devouring still. 
“Iam dying — dying for shame ! ” she kept crying. 
“ I love him — I hate him ! ” But as the fever spent 
itself, the struggle of her heart grew weaker. And 
at last she lay still, weary unto death, but saved, 

2 * 


LIBRARY 
OF THE 

SUP/. COUNCIL) 

SO.*.JURtSDICTlON« 


84 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


and her mind was clear. She wept blessed tears* 
and suffered him to touch her. 

She suffered it, but did not return his caresses. 
“ Taras ! ” she sobbed, “ do you despise me ? ” 

“Despise you? Good God ! ” he cried, covering 
her hand with kisses. 

“Ah, yes — but you might — you ought!” she 

wept. “No only, because- ,” a burning blush 

overspread her pallor. “ But do you know why I 
struggled so desperately when your hand was upon 
me in the river ? I knew you would hold fast, and 
I wanted to drag you down with me in death. Can 
you forgive it ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” he cried, and his face shone. 

“ As sure as you wish your mother to be at 
peace in her grave ? ” 

“ Yes, Anusia ! ” he cried again. 

“ Then I may kiss you,” she said, twining her 
arms about him. 

That was their troth plight ; and soon after they 
were married. 

Thus the stranger had become the owner of the 
largest farm but one in the village. Yet no one 
grudged him his good fortune ; even Harasim 
appeared to have submitted to his fate. And but 
rarely was there an attempt at making fun of his 
garb ; he had acquired their mode of address, saying 
“ thou ” to young and old, but he could not be 
prevailed upon to adopt the Huzul’s dress. But no 
one disliked him for it, the people had ample proof 
apart from this how faithfully he had adopted the 
interests of his new home, and even if they did not 
openly confess as much to themselves it was very 
evident he was benefiting them largely. Without in 
the least thrusting himself upon them, or pushing his 
views, this blue-eyed, quiet stranger in the course of 
a few years had become the most influential man, 


tfHE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 85 

even a reformer of the parish ; in the first place 
because of his ever helpful goodness, in the second 
place because of the rare wisdom governing his 
every act. 

But it was not without a struggle with himself 
that he came to feel at home in his adopted village ; 
everything here seemed strange at first, and some 
things unheard of — their dress, their speech, their 
mode of life, their food, the way they reared the 
cattle and tilled their fields; nay, every domestic 
arrangement. A farmer should be able to move 
his limbs freely ; but these men did their ploughing 
and threshing in tight-fitting breeches, in doublets 
that were the veriest straight- waistcoats ; and the 
breeches, moreover, were scarlet — perhaps to de- 
light the bulls they ploughed with. They wore 
their hair flowing, and their beards were long ; and 
no man of them was ever seen without his array of 
arms. It quite frightened him to see thorn go tend- 
ing the cattle with the gun on their backs, or discourse 
with a next-door neighbour axe in hand. “ What 
on earth is this dangerous nonsense for, with a 
passionate, easily-roused people ? ” Taras would ask 
himself. And that such was their temper was 
shown by their very speech. In the lowlands 
people, as a rule, speak measuredly, in well-ordered 
sentences ; but these men flung their notions at 
each other as though every statement must leave a 
bump or cut upon the other’s head. 

Nor was this all: their ways in some things 
appeared to him past conception. They seemed 
like grown children for carelessness, sending their 
sheep or cattle into the mountains miles away, with 
only a lad or two to mind them — was it in con- 
sideration of the prowling wolf and bear? These 
visitors, indeed, were not slow in carrying off what 
pleased them, whilst others of the scared cattle 


36 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


strayed into hopeless wilds or came to grief in some 
rocky solitude. Less startling than this manner of 
cattle-keeping was their agriculture; yet even this 
raised Taras’s wonder. Their ploughs were pecu- 
liar, and their seasons of sowing, harvesting, thresh- 
ing, all differed from his every experience. 

A man of poorer quality would simply have 
shrugged his shoulders, saying it was no concern of 
his. But Taras began to consider and to compare, 
and it was quite a relief to his mind — nay, a joy 
to his heart — to discover that, though much with 
them was peculiar, his new neighbours must not 
just he looked down upon as fools. He understood 
that the people of Zulawce had a good reason for 
setting about their various field labours at other 
times than did the farmers of the plain. It was 
because their seasons differed. And he perceived 
that the Podolian plough, broad and shovel-like, 
was fit for the rich, soft earth of the lowlands, but 
not for the stony, upland soil of Zulawce. The 
people there, then, were right in substituting a 
strong, digging wedge of a ploughshare, being unr 
reasonable only in this — that they would use this 
same plough for their low-lying fields by the Pruth, 
where the earth was rich and yielding. It was 
much the same with their manner of feeding. The 
Podolians have rye and beef ; the Huzuls up in 
their mountain haunts must be satisfied with oats 
and sheep. Now the people of Zulawce just followed 
the Huzuls’ example, although they reared cattle, 
and could grow both wheat and rye. And, again, 
their clothing was ill-adapted to their needs, and 
their carrying arms uncalled-for and foolish, hut it 
was neither more nor less with them than simply 
preserving the habit of their upland neighbours. 
The Huzul must carry his gun, for his life is a con- 
stant warfare with bears or bandits. Now, at 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 37 

Zulawce things went more peaceably, but the 
belligerent habit remained. This mixture of the 
reasonable and unreasonable was most apparent in 
their ways with the cattle. It was natural that 
they should keep their live stock on the hills, 
utilising the land round about their village to its 
utmost agricultural possibilities ; but it was stupidly 
careless to provide neither fold nor capable herds- 
men. The Huzuls had no choice but to leave 
their flocks at large for want of hands, an excuse 
which could not be pleaded at Zulawce. 

Now Taras was fully aware that these things 
could, and must, be mended, but he also knew it 
would be hopeless to attempt convincing his new 
neighbours of anything by the power of speech. 
On the contrary, advice, however excellent, which 
cast a slur on their habits would be tbe surest 
means of rousing both their anger and their opposi- 
tion. So he strove to teach them by the force of 
example, letting his fields be a sort of model farm 
in their midst. And his strongest ally in this silent 
labour of love was their own self-interest waking a 
desire of emulating his gain. They watched him in 
the spring, they came to borrow his plough in the 
autumn, and by the next season they had provided 
themselves with a ploughshare like his. It was the 
same with other things. They began to perceive 
it might be an advantage to see to the safety of 
their grazing cattle, without much inquiring into 
their own reasons for adopting a plan they had 
neglected or despised so far. And Taras was the 
very last to remind them that*they owed him any 
thanks, it being to this man the fairest of rewards 
that his silent endeavour should bear fruit. 

But the recompense he coveted was not his in all 
things; he would find himself baffled, yet he renewed 
his quiet conflict unwearyingly, seeking to overcome 


38 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


that savage spirit of contention, that love of avenging 
themselves, prevailing with the men of Zulawce. If 
two had cause of quarrel it was a rare proof of 
moderation to allow the village judge a voice in the 
matter. And whatever the object of contest might 
be, a strip of land or a fowl, the stronger took pos- 
session. If the other succeeded in ousting him, or 
if the judge managed to arbitrate, it was well ; if 
not, the stronger just kept his booty, and that, too, 
was considered well. As for appealing to law, it 
appeared out of the question ; the far-off Emperor 
was welcome to his crown, but that any appointed 
authority in his name should dispense justice at 
Colomea they simply ignored. They would, indeed, 
have thought it an insult to have to do with any 
magistrate — their very thieves were too good for 
that ; they would thrash the rascals and let them 
go. And as for their relations with their count, it 
was a natural state of warfare, if not with him per- 
sonally, then with his steward or mandatar,old Gonta; 
and shouts of victory filled the air whenever they 
succeeded in wresting from him the smallest tittle 
of his claims. That any mandatar ever should 
attempt to worst them they had little fear, for did 
they not carry axe and gun? But this state of 
things seemed utterly horrible to Taras, whose 
course of life had taught him to look upon Justice 
as the lode-star and centre of all things. He could 
not understand these men, till he perceived that 
concerning their personal character also he must 
seek explanation in the fact that they clung to the 
peculiarities of the mountain tribe, be it in virtue or 
in vice. 

The more he grew acquainted with the upland 
forest, and the more he saw of the Huzuls, the 
better he learned to judge of his neighbours in the 
village. Neither wealth, nor extreme poverty are 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 39 

known in those pine-covered haunts ; envy, there- 
fore, in these solitudes has no power to separate the 
hearts of men. Life goes hard with each and all 
alike — privation, the inclemency of the weather, the 
wild beast, being the common foes of all. The 
individual man makes a mark only in so far as he 
has power to overcome these foes ; hence a feeling 
of equality and oneness, based upon the similarity of 
all. And whereas the people of the lowlands once a 
week only, on Sundays and in their churches, are 
taught to look upon men as equals in the sight of 
God, these highlanders know of no other church 
but their own wide forest, in which they bow the 
knee to no man, if ever they bow it to Him of 
whom they vaguely believe that He dwelleth above. 
It is natural, therefore, that they know of no differ- 
ence of rank in men, using the simple “ thou ” to 
each and all alike. Now the men of Zulawce were 
not so circumstanced ; some of them were masters, 
and some of them were serving-men ; some knew 
poverty and some knew wealth ; but the spirit of 
the tribe continued with them. A little envy, a 
little respect for riches, had found a footing with 
them ; but, nevertheless, a strong feeling of equality 
survived, and they were too proud to cringe before 
any man ; the rich peasant was addressed as fami- 
liarly as the beggar. Their speech was rough ; but 
the feeling whence such roughness sprang was not 
in itself despicable. And it was the one point in 
which Taras yielded his habit to theirs, adopting 
their ways in this, at least, that he also said “ thou ” 
to everybody, and was satisfied that from the judge 
to the meanest of his own farm labourers all should 
say “ thou ” to him. 

But it was not merely the pride of freedom, it 
was that inveterate habit of avenging themselves 
in matters of right and wrong which had come to 


40 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


them from the parent tribe. The Huzul is bound 
to fight for himself. A man who any moment may 
meet some desperate outlaw in the mountain wilds 
must be prepared to defend himself or perish. And 
not merely in such cases the Huzul must be his 
own protector. Supposing two men far up in the 
mountains, a hundred or more miles away from the 
nearest magistrate, fall a-quarrelling over a strip of 
pasture-ground, shall he who is wronged appeal to 
law? Granted he were willing to undertake the 
tedious journey, it might be a year or more before 
some law officer could put in an appearance up 
there for taking evidence on the spot. Justice 
from her appointed centres cannot easily reach 
such outlying regions. But supposing even a 
magistrate’s verdict had been obtained, what 
power on earth can force the loser to abide by 
it ? The Emperor’s authority ? — he barely knows 
his name, and the far-off majesty is little enough 
to him — or coercion ? But who is to take a body 
of armed constables on impossible roads to the 
very heart of the mountain-range, merely to make 
sure that a slip of pasture-ground for the feeding of 
a score of sheep shall belong to Sfasko and not to 
Wasko ! Why, even if it could be done what were 
the gain? Sfasko, indeed, might rejoice if the 
servants of the law had got there, for Wasko would 
have the keeping of them, and Wasko must give up 
the contested land. But no sooner than their backs 
were turned, Wasko, by right of the stronger, would 
pay him out for it, turning Sfasko’s victory to de- 
feat. Under such circumstances, then, and because no 
law can be enforced there, it is natural that the chil- 
dren of the forest should manage their own justice, 
each man for himself. But to Taras it appeared 
a deplorable state of things that the more civilised 
peasants of Zulawce should also require to fight for 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 41 

themselves. So he set about an all but forlorn hope 
of reforming their minds, striving earnestly, and 
making little impression save on his own suffer- 
ing soul. Twice he succeeded in persuading the 
quarrellers to submit their suit to Judge Stephen’s 
decision, and this only because the men in question 
had benefited by his generous kindness and did not 
like to lose it. In most cases he failed entirely ; 
the people still anxious, perhaps, of retaining his 
goodwill, would listen to him with some show of 
patience, but took matters into their own hands 
nevertheless, calling him an innocent lamb of the 
lowlands for not knowing that a bear had his paws 
to use them. 

But for all that, these contentious creatures had 
found out that the “ innocent lamb ” was nowise 
wanting in manliness. They liked to take his advice 
on general things, and elected him to the civil elder- 
ship as years went on, which greatly added to his 
influence ; and with might and main he continued to 
strive for love of peace in the parish. Somehow or 
other, the men by degrees did not fly to arms quite 
so readily, perceiving that in most cases they did 
better to submit to Judge Stephen, abiding by his 
decision, or rather by that of Taras ; for the judge, 
himself prone to wrath, would pass them over to 
the younger man in order to save his own temper. 

“ You have introduced this nonsense here,” he 
would say ; “ it is meet, therefore, you should have 
the bother of it. ’Twere easier to settle if they had 
come to blows first.” 

But Taras was only too glad to be thus 
“ bothered,” sparing neither time, nor trouble, nor 
patience ; and at such cost it was given him more 
and more to convince the contending parties of the 
justness of his judgments. 

But so far he had succeeded only in little things. 


42 


FOB THE RIGHT. 


In matters of more importance he was unable to 
prevent the shedding of blood — as, for instance, 
when he that went by the name of Red Schymko 
fell out with his brother Waleri concerning the 
right of pasturage on a certain field. That was 
considered a great matter ; and not till Schymko had 
been maimed by a blow from Waleri’s axe, in return 
for which he lodged a bullet in his brother’s thigh, 
did they permit the judge and elders to have any 
voice in the matter. J udge Stephen and his 
coadjutors were most anxious to pass righteous 
judgment, examining matters carefully ; but as their 
verdict could not otherwise than be in favour of the 
said Waleri, it resulted in Schymko’s marching his 
armed labourers to the contested field by way of 
maintaining his claim. And the matter ended in 
Waleri’s yielding, leaving Red Schymko in posses- 
sion after all. 

It was concerning this business that Taras very 
nearly lost his eldership by reason of a word of 
sensible advice. It was just before the yearly elec- 
tion, when Schymko, with his labourers, had taken 
possession of the field, that Taras said to him, “ If 
you will not abide by the judge’s verdict, you can 
but appeal to the magistrates of the district.” “ Go 
to law ! ” roared Schymko. “ Go to law ! ” echoed 
the people, as though Taras had advised the direst 
folly ever heard of. But they took it seriously, and 
when, a few days later, it was a question of re- 
admitting him to the eldership, the general opinion 
was to the effect that being honest and good was a 
recommendation certainly, but an elder had need to 
be no fool ! He was chosen, nevertheless ; but even 
his friend Simeon, to whose strenuous exertions his 
re-election was partly due, could only say, “You see, 
he is a lowlander — how should he know any 
better?” 


THE STUFF HE WAS MADE OF. 43 

Such experiences made Taras more careful, but 
they could not discourage him. He saw that even 
at best it would take the work of a lifetime to lay a 
foundation of better things with these people. They 
must be taught in the first place that the authority 
of their own judge should be unquestioned. He 
took great care never again to hint at the existence 
of law-courts, but to educate them up to the lesser 
point. He gained ground, though very slowly. He 
could work for it patiently, for had not good fortune 
smiled on him in all things besides, making his own 
life pleasant at last and happy beyond many ! His 
homestead seemed a cradle of success, and the 
children his wife had borne him grew like olive 
branches round about his table. There was not a 
cloud in his heavens, and every good seed he had 
sown was like the grain on his own fields, bearing 
fruit, some thirty, some sixty fold ; surely this one 
thing for which he laboured would yet come to be 
added to his golden sheaf ! 

Returning home in the evening he would rest by the 
side of his faithful wife, his little boy Wassilj upon 
his knee, and there was no greater joy to him at 
such times than to glance back to his own early years 
and to follow with the inward eye the growth of his 
life’s happiness — a struggling thing at first, but a 
strong tree now with spreading branches, beneath 
which he and his might safely dwell. “ It is no 
puny seedling,” he would say, looking about him 
with happy pride, “ but even like the strong pine 
that strikes root the deeper for having chanced upon 
the hard and rocky soil where no man’s favour 
helped to rear it, and the sun of God’s justice only 
yielded the light towards which it grew ! ” And 
his prayer in those days was something after this 
fashion : “ Thou righteous One in the heavens who 
hast given me many things, if so be that Thou wilt let 


44 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


me keep them, I have just, nothing left to ask for 
but this one thing : that I might teach these people, 
whom I have come to look upon as my brothers, 
that Thy will is very beautiful because it is just. 
There is this foolish old priest of ours always telling 
them of Thy grace and never a word of Thy justice 
— how should they understand their duties aright ! ” 
.... For himself in those days Taras had nothing 
to ask for. 

Such was Taras Barabola at the time when Mr. 
Wenceslas Hajek made his entry at Zulawce — one 
of the happiest and most upright of men. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE RIGHT WRONGED 



T is often asserted that on meeting any one for 


JL the first time a voice within will warn us of the 
good or evil to be the outcome of such meeting. 
Now Taras had no such foreboding. The new 
mandatar had impressed him rather favourably ; but 
apart from this, his sense of justice would oppose 
Judge Stephen’s disparagement of the new bailiff. 
“ Our Count,” he would say, “ has come into his 
possessions by inheritance, just as the Emperor has 
got his crown : and it is God who gave them power, 
for there must be rulers upon earth. It is hard that 
we should have to yield forced labour, but such is 
our lot, and it were wrong of us to hate the mandatar 
because he looks after his master’s interest in claim- 
ing that portion of our work. He is but doing his 
duty ; let us do ours.” The peasants did not gainsay 
him, especially as Hajek on the coming round of the 
harvest expected neither more nor less of them than 
his predecessor, Gonta, had done. The judge had gone 
to him misgivingly, fully determined to fight his 
exactions ; but there was no need, and to his own 
surprise matters were arranged in a moment. 

Not till the autumn, six months after Hajek’s 
arrival, did a cause of conflict present itself, when 
the tribute of the live stock fell due, the arrange- 
ment being that on the day of St. Mary the Virgin 


46 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


each peasant, according to his wealth, had to bring a 
foal, or a calf, or a goose. Now the former steward 
had never exacted this tax to the day, but was will- 
ing to receive it when the cattle had increase. 
The judge and the elders would go to him and state 
when each villager might hope to bring his due, and 
therewith the mandatar was satisfied. In accordance 
with this, old Stephen, with Taras, and Simeon 
Pomenko, his fellow elder, repaired to the manor 
house, the judge making his statement. 

Mr. Hajek listened quietly and blandly, and then 
he said, “ On St. Mary’s day the tribute is due ; if 
there were any arrears I should be constrained to 
levy them forcibly.’’ 

“Mandatar,” cried Stephen, flushing, “have a 
care how you interfere with old usage ! ” 

“It is an ill-usage.” 

“ Ill-usage to go by the times of nature ? ” 

“ You should see that you are prepared.” 

“ I see you are prepared to give good advice,” re- 
torted the judge with wrathful sarcasm ; “ perhaps 
you speak from experience ! In your country the 
cows may calve at a mandatar’s pleasure, they 
don’t do so here ! ” 

Hajek changed colour, but not his mind. “ It 
behoves me to watch over the Count’s interests,” 
he said, slipping away to the safety of his inner 
chamber. 

The men went home in a state of excitement, the 
ill news spreading rapidly through the village. Before 
long all the community had gathered beneath the 
linden, angry speeches flying while old Stephen de- 
livered his report. “ We must stand up for the 
time-honoured usage,” he cried; “and as to any 
forcible interference, let him try it ! We have guns, 
and bullets too, thank God ! ” 

“ Urrahah ! ” cried the men, brandishing their 


THE RIGHT WRONGED. 


47 


weapons. One only remained quiet, one of the 
elders — Taras. He allowed the commotion to 
subside, and then he begged for the word. “ It 
comes hard upon us I own,” he said, “ for it finds us 
unprepared! The old usage was reasonable and 
fair, no doubt ; but whatever of hardship any change 
may involve, we must consider which way the right 
inclines — the written right I mean, and I fear in this 
case it will speak for the Count.” 

“And who has settled that right,” cried Stephen, 
hotly, “but the Emperor’s law-makers. What do 
they understand about cattle ! ” 

“Little enough, no doubt,” owned Taras, “but 
these same law-makers have also made it a matter 
of writ that serfdom with us is abolished, and that 
we peasants have rights which the Count shall not 
touch. If we would enjoy the law’s benefits, we 
must put up with its hardships.” 

“ But where shall we get foals and calves all of a 
sudden?” 

“ Well, that we must see. I can provide some, 
and perhaps others of the larger farmers are willing 
to do the same. Or I will lend the money to any 
respectable man of ours that may need it if he can 
buy his foal or calf elsewhere. This can be 
managed. The chief point is the right, and that 
must be upheld for our own sakes, even where it 
goes against us.” 

He spoke quietly, firmly, and failed not to make 
an impression. The men began to weigh the ques- 
tion more soberly, Taras’s offer of assistance going 
a long way with the less wealthy. There was none 
but Judge Stephen holding out in the end. “ You 
are sheep, all of you,” he cried, “ following this great 
lamb, and you will be shorn, I tell you ! ” But 
since the majority outvoted him even the judge 
had to yield. 


48 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


And thus the tribute was delivered on the very 
day, at a heavy tax to Taras’s generosity ; for while 
many could not have made it possible without his 
proffered help, there were others who improved the 
opportunity gratuitously, since he was so willing to 
step into the breach. It was simply his doing, then, 
that by St. Mary’s Day not a man was in arrears. 

Mr. Hajek was prepared to own this when Taras 
appeared with a foal on his own behalf. “ That was 
good of you, Podolian ; I see it is you who brought 
them to reason,” said the mandatar, adding approv- 
ingly, “ I liked the look of you on our first meeting. 
I am glad I was not mistaken ! ” Whereupon Taras 
bowed, but his answer was anything but a humble 
acknowledgment of praise. “ The right must be 
upheld,” he said, solemnly. 

That was in September. About a month later 
Hajek sent for the judge and elders, receiving them 
with his blandest smile. “ After All Souls’, and 
throughout • the winter, you owe me eight labourers 
a day for forest work, do you not ? ” he said. “ Well, 
then, make your arrangements and let me have a 
list of the men I am to expect. On the morning 
after All Souls’ I shall look for the first eight to make 
their appearance.” 

“ The forest labour certainly is due,” replied the 
judge, “ that is to say, it was ; but since all the timber 
has been cut, the obligation dropped. Or are we ex- 
pected to make new plantations now that winter is 
upon us ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” said Hajek, “ but if the men 
are due to me, I may employ them as I think fit. I 
have sold their labour to the forester of Prinkowce.” 

“ That is unjust ! ” exclaimed Stephen. “ We owe 
forest labour to our own count, and in his own forests 
only!” 

Mr. Wenceslas pretended not to hear, picking up 


THE EIGHT WRONGED. 


49 


his papers and preparing to retire. “ So I shall look 
for the men on the morning after All Souls’,” he said 
and vanished. 

“ There will be bloodshed if you insist,” cried 
Stephen after him, but the mandatar was gone. 

The men went their way perturbed. 

“ Well, Judge,” said Taras, as they walked along, 
“ this is hard. We must try and advise the people 
justly, but to do so we must first examine the docu- 
ments in your keeping — I dare say his reverence will 
help us.” 

“Podolian!” cried Stephen, angrily, “ leave us 
alone with your suggestions! We want no docu- 
ments to be looked into. It is a glaring wrong, and 
if proof be needed ” — he snatched at his pistol — “ here 
it is ! ” 

Taras mused sadly. “ Will you take any blood- 
shed upon your conscience ? ” he asked quietly. 

“Will your conscience answer for the wrong?” 
retorted the judge. 

“ Certainly not ! ” exclaimed Taras. “ But in the 
first place there is but one just means of redress if 
we suffer — the authority of the appointed magis- 
trates; and in the second place we must make 
sure which way the right lies — we shall find out 
by examining the papers.” 

Stephen resisted to his utmost, but as Simeon also 
agreed with Taras he was obliged to yield ; he fetched 
the deeds, and the men called upon their parish 
priest. 

Now Father Martin was an amiable man, glad to 
leave things alone in life — his favourite schnaps always 
excepted, with which he meddled freely. And he was 
always ready to express his views, but his opinion 
was apt to be that of his latest interlocutor. For 
both these reasons he could after all throw no great 
light upon the matter, which was the more to be 

3 


50 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


regretted as the question left room for doubt, the 
information contained in the documents amounting 
to this only: “The men of Zulawce owe forest 
labour to their count.” 

“ There you see ! ” cried Stephen, triumphantly, 
“ to their count. What could be plainer — and not 
to the forester of Prinkowce ! ” 

“Of course not,” assented his reverence, “how 
could the mandatar think of selling your labour? 
— ridiculous ! ” 

“ Owe forest labour to their count,” said Taras, 
meditatively. “ If there is no clause to limit the 
place, the Count may be within the law if he says : 
‘ Having no forest at Zulawce of my own^now, I sell 
the labour which is due to me.’ ” 

“Of course,” cried the pope, “ he has lost his 
forest, poor man, shall he lose his profit besides ? — 
ridiculous ! ” 

“If he has no forest, he cannot expect us to work 
in it,” objected Stephen, doggedly. 

“ Naturally not,” affirmed his reverence ; “ even a 
child can see that ! Where is the forest you are to 
work in ? — ridiculous ! ” 

“ There is no lack of forest at Prinkowce,” said 
Taras. 

“ No, no, plenty of it,” declared the pope ; “ why, 
the place is covered with woods, partly beech, partly 
pine. And, after all, I suppose it may be pretty 
equal to you whether you do the work here or ” 

“'All honour to your reverence,” broke in the judge, 
angrily ; “but this is just nonsense ; your judgment, 
I fear, is awry with your schnaps.” 

And the amiable man adopted even this opinion, 
owning humbly “it was Avrumko, that miserable 
Jew, with his tempting supply . . . .” 

But the men went their way none the wiser for 
their shepherd’s willingness to solve their difficulty. 


THE RIGHT WRONGED. 


51 


Simeon upon this attempted to reason with the 
judge, suggesting their applying to the magistrates 
for decision. It was not without a real struggle 
with himself that old Stephen at last gave in. 

“ To stand up for his right, and knock down the 
man who wrongs him, this is the true Huzul way,” 
he cried, passionately, “hut if you will try the law, 
like a coward, see what you get by it.” 

But here Taras held out. “No man can appeal 
to the law,” he said, “ but he who is sure of his right. 
I am not ! I cannot tell whether the right in this 
case is on our side or not. And, therefore— God 
forgive me if it is wrong, hut I cannot otherwise — 
I shall propose to the people to yield the forest 
labour at Prinkowce.” 

“ You shall not, brother ! ” cried Simeon, urgently. 
“You shall not ! Remember that you are no longer a 
man of the lowlands. We men of Zula wee love not 
to bend our necks.” 

Taras flushed. “Your taunt is not altogether 
just,” he said, gently, yet firmly. “ True, we of 
Podolia are more peace-loving, even more humble 
than you. It is because we have borne the yoke. 
But the feeling of right and wrong is as strong with 
us as with most men, perhaps all the stronger for 
the wrong we have suffered. You determine between 
right and wrong with your reason only, we feel it 
with the heart. And the right is very sacred 
to us.” 

“ Then why not stand up for it now? ” 

“ I would if I saw it. But my understanding is 
at a loss, and the voice of my heart is silent. There- 
fore I cannot appeal to a decision by law, but must 
counsel a giving in.” 

And so he did on the following Sunday, when the 
community assembled beneath the linden. The 
men listened to him in silence, none dissenting nor 


52 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


assenting. After him Simeon arose to propound his 
views ; but when the word “ magistrate ” had fallen 
from his lips their scornful shouting interrupted 
him. “No lawsuit for us ! ” cried the men of 
Zulawce. At this point the judge made up his mind 
to come forward with his opinion, battling down his 
resentment at having been defeated before. Some 
applauded, but most shook their heads. “Taras,” 
they cried, “ tell us yet again why you would have 
us give in.” He repeated his reasons slowly and 
distinctly. Again there was silence. It appeared 
uncertain what decision the men would arrive at. 

The judge prepared to put the question to the 
vote. “ Men of Zulawce,” he said, “it is your first 
duty to reject anything that must be to the disad- 
vantage of the community. Whoever of you agrees 
with Taras, let him lift his hand.” The majority 
did so. The judge did not believe his eyes. This 
result was indeed surprising ; not only had these men 
voted against their own interest, but they denied the 
very character they bore. The fact was that Taras’s 
opinion had come to be gospel truth to the village 
ever since his stepping so generously into the 
breach on St. Mary’s Day. 

The old judge positively shed tears of vexa- 
tion when he had to pass the resolution arrived 
at, and at once declared his intention to retire from 
office. It was the men’s united entreaty only that 
prevailed with him not to do so ; but as for that 
rascally mandatar, he would not cross his threshold 
again, he swore. 

For this reason it fell to Taras to arrange with 
Mr. Wenceslas, and give him a list of the men. 
Hajek made it an opportunity of patting Taras on 
the back, saying approvingly, “Once again you have 
shown yourself a capital subject.” But this time 
Taras forbore bowing. He retreated a step, fixing 


THE EIGHT WEONGED. 


58 


the mandatar with a look, and said, slowly, “ We 
are keeping our conscience clean ; I hope you can 
say as much for yourself, sir.” 

Winter wore on, and the forest labour at 
Prinkowce was yielded quietly day after day ; but 
the good understanding between old Stephen and 
Taras seemed at an end. Their relations had steadily 
improved in those eight years, since Taras had 
lived in the village as the husband of Anusia. The 
old man by degrees had conquered his offended 
pride and the disappointment of his dearest wishes. 
He had even learned to entertain as warm a regard 
for the stranger as did most of the villagers. But 
his friendship yielded to a renewed feeling of cold- 
ness after that public voting. He never spoke to 
him now except on matters of business, and then 
in the most cutting way he could command ; it 
seemed hopeless to attempt a reconciliation. “Taras 
is a good man,” he would say, “and I myself am 
answerable for his being among us. But he is 
wrong if he expects us, bears as we are, to be as 
lamb-like as he is — very wrong, for it is against our 
nature.” 

And the old man stuck to his opinion. Taras 
actually was not invited when, about the middle of 
December, the men of Zulawce, headed by their 
old judge, went hunting the bear in order to pro- 
cure their Christmas dinners. “Either he or I,” 
Stephen had said, and Taras was excluded That 
hunting expedition is a regular high day and 
festival with the Huzuls, in spite of, or rather on 
account of the danger it involves. It generally 
spreads over three days, but on the present occasion 
the men returned on the second day, sad and 
silent. They brought two giant bears with them, it 
is true, but also a dying man. Judge Stephen, with 
his wonted impetuosity, had pushed ahead too reck- 


54 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


lessly, his gun had missed fire, and an infuriated 
brute had grappled with him. The hear was shot, 
but not till the brave old man had received his 
death wound in the bear’s embrace, and it was a 
question whether he would reach the village alive. 
“ Make haste,” he was heard moaning, as they 
carried him home ; “ I must not die on the road ; I 
have yet a duty to perform in the village.” 

They knew not what he meant, but understood 
when he begged them to stop before the house of 
Taras, who came rushing from his door, and sank 
to his knees, sobbing. 

“ Weep not,” whispered the dying man ; “ but 
listen to me. You once saved my life, you are the 
most upright man in the village, you have been the 
best of husbands to my brother’s child, and yet I 
have been wroth with you. Not because you sup- 
planted my hopes, I swear it ; but because I have at 
heart the welfare of this village. In this sacred 
cause I now would speak to you. You will be made 
judge when I am gone — I cannot hinder it, or in- 
deed I would ! Not because I hate you, but for love 
of the village, and, ay, for your own sake, Taras ! 
For it must end ill if the judge, the leader of all, is 
of another caste than the men he rules. It cannot 
be helped now. They will choose you, and you will 
accept. But let me tell you one thing — be sure that 
among men in this world it is exactly the same as 
with the beasts of the forest. The stronger will eat 
up the weaker, the evil one will destroy him that is 
good, the only question being that of strength. 
Whoever cannot fight for himself is lost. . . . 

But you — you will not understand — you cannot 
believe it ! I must be satisfied with that which you 
can understand, and one thing you can promise. 
Hold fast by our rights ; guard them against the op- 
pressor, and suffer not that the necks of free men be 


THE RIGHT WRONGED. 


55 


bowed to the yoke. Give me your word that you 
will yield up peace rather than the right, if it must 
be fought for.” 

He lifted his hand with a great effort, and Taras 
clasped it in his own. 

“ It is well,” said the dying man. “ You will 
keep your word.” 

With a burst of wailing they carried the dead 
judge into his house. On his face rested an expres- 
sion of great assurance, born of the good faith in 
which he had died. For never has promise been 
kept more truly than that which was pledged to 
him as the shadows fell. 


CHAPTER IV. 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 

S PRING had returned upon the mountains. 

Some of the higher summits, it is true, still 
wore their crown of snow, glittering now in the 
sunshine of April ; but the little village gardens of 
Zulawce were looking bright with early flowers, 
and on the slope toward Prinkowce the graveyard 
had burst into bloom where they had laid Judge 
Stephen to his rest. The spot was carefully 
tended, and marked with a well-wrought stone 
cross, as Taras had ordered, who was judge in his 
stead; for Harasim, Stephen’s only son, had not 
troubled himself about it : drink was doing its work 
with him, and if his farm was kept in tolerable 
order it was due simply to the care of his cousins, 
Anusia and her husband. Taras had taken this 
burden also upon himself, though life pressed heavily 
on his shoulders ; for it grew more evident to him, 
day after day, that it was no light thing to be judge 
of Zulawce while Wenceslas Hajek, as Count 
Borecki’s land steward, had power in the village. 
Again and again the dying speech of Stephen rang 
in his ears. 

As for the mandatar, he had rejoiced on learning 
that Taras had succeeded the old judge ; this gentle 
Podolian, who had always been on the yielding side, 
seemed the very man for his plans. His fury 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


57 


naturally was all the greater on discovering his 
mistake. The * capital subject ’ certainly never 
lost his temper or threatened violence, but every 
unfair demand he opposed with an inflexible “No,” 
which was all the more effective for being given 
calmly, almost humbly, and fully substantiated with 
good reasons. On one occasion, however, his im- 
perturbation was in imminent danger; Hajek had 
patted him on the shoulder, saying, with a knowing 
wink: “Well, my good fellow, suppose you allow 
me two labourers more ; it shall not he your loss.” 
Taras upon this gave the rascal a look which took 
the colour out of his face, and made him turn back 
a step, trembling. 

From that hour there seemed enmity between 
the two, and the more the one strove to encroach, 
the more the other met him with refusal. But 
while Taras succeeded in maintaining a stern calm, 
the mandatar again and again was seen foaming 
with rage. It was so upon a certain occasion 
early in April, and for a trivial cause. Hajek 
was making a plantation, and wanted the villagers 
to allow him a quantity of young trees from their 
forest. 

“ We are not bound to yield that,” said Taras, 
quietly. 

The mandatar paced his floor, apparently beyond 
himself ; but a discriminating observer might have 
doubted the sincerity of his rage. 

“ Don’t force me to take high measures,” he 
roared. “Why should you refuse me a few 
wretched saplings ? I shall just take them, if you 
hold out.” 

“You will do no such thing,” returned Taras, as 
quietly as before. 

“ Do you think I am afraid of your guns and 
axes?” Hajek’s words rose to a shriek, as 


3 * 


58 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


though he were half-suffocated with passion, but 
his eye was fixed on the peasant’s face with a 
watchful glance. 

“ No,” said the latter, “ I am thinking that there 
are magistrates in the district. We shall never 
have recourse to violence, even if you should make 
the beginning.” 

“ This is palaver.” 

“ I mean what I say,” said Taras, drawing himself 
up proudly. “While I am judge here, the men of 
Zulawce shall not take the law into their own 
hands on whatever provocation. . . . But why 

speak of such things ? The trees you cannot have, so 
let me take my leave, sir.” 

“ Go ! ” growled the mandatar, but a queer light 
transformed his features no sooner than Taras’s 
back was turned. “ That is useful to know,” he 
said to himself with an approving smile. “ This 
man is quite a jewel of a judge. . . . No, there 

is no need to be wroth with you, my good Taras ! 
So, after all, my first impression of you was the right 
one ! . . Old Stephen could never have had a 

better successor ! ” 

But Taras, the judge, went home with a heavy 
heart. He had no thanks for his battling, save in 
his own conscience ; the men of Zulaw T ce had 
scarcely a word of acknowledgment. On the 
contrary, they considered him far too yielding on 
many points ; and, as they viewed matters, there was 
truth in their charge. Severin Gonta and the late 
Count, for the sake of peace, had not made good 
every claim to the very letter; but Hajek de- 
manded every tittle that was his by right of 
institution, granting not an hour of respite, and 
foregoing not a peck of wheat; and Taras as a 
matter of duty never opposed him in this. It was 
quite correct, then, if the people said that the 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE t 59 

new judge insisted on their yielding all dues far 
more strictly than any of his predecessors ever had 
done. Indeed, it was only the love and respect he 
had won for himself in the village that kept under 
any real distrust or open accusation. For he was 
all alone in his work, no one helped him by ex- 
plaining things to the people, not even that 
shepherd of his flock whose duty it fairly might 
have been. The reverend Martin sat on his glebe 
as on an isle of content, all because of that strange 
man, Avrumko, who kept supplying him so freely ; 
and any sympathy he might have given was thus 
drowned. 

But Taras continued bravely and hopefully, 
comforting his wife when her courage failed. “ The 
right must conquer,” he would tell her; “ and for 
the rest, have we not an Emperor at Vienna, and 
God above? ” 

“ But Vienna is far, and God in heaven seems 
further,” said she, disheartened. 

“Not so far,” cried he, “ but that both will hear 
us if we must call for redress. But things will not 
come to such a pass ; even a mandatar will scarcely 
dare to subvert the right and do violence.” 

He was mistaken. Hajek dared both. It was 
about a month after that conversation concerning 
the trees. Taras in the early morning was in his 
yard, giving orders to his two servants, Sefko and 
Jemilian, concerning the sowing of the wheat, 
when he was startled by a dull report, which 
quivered through the air, a second and a third clap 
succeeding. 

“ Gunshots!” he gasped. 

“ Some one out hunting,” said Sefko. 

“No!” cried Jemilian; “it is near the river. 
Could it be ‘Green Giorgi ’ with his band?” re- 
ferring to a notorious outlaw of those days, a 


60 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


deserter, George Czumaka by name, who wore a 
green jerkin. 

“ No ! ” cried Taras, in his turn, and making for 
the road. “ In broad daylight he would never 
dare. . . What has happened ?” he interrupted 

himself, changing colour. A young farm labourer, 
Wassilj Soklewicz, came dashing along wild with 
terror. 

“ Help ! help ! ” he shrieked. His clothes were 
torn, and he looked white as death. 

“What is it?” repeated Taras, seizing him by 
the arm. 

“ Help ! ” groaned the poor fellow. “ They have 
just killed my brother Dimitri ! ” 

“Where? Who?” 

“ The mandatar. . . on the parish field ! ” 

said Wassilj ; continuing brokenly : “We had gone 
there early this morning, my brother and I, 
together 'with the two sons of Dubko, to work on 
the field as you told us. We had taken our guns 
with us, intending to have a shot in the afternoon. 
We had just put the oxen to the ploughs when the 
mandatar arrived with a number of men, all armed. 
‘ Get ye gone,’ he cried ; ‘ you are trespassing on 
the Count's property.’ ” 

“ ‘ Begone yourselves ! * returned my brother 
Dimitri, seizing hold of his gun, which he had laid 
down, we doing likewise. ‘ This field has been 
parish ground time out of mind ; I shall shoot any 
one that says the contrary.’ 

“ The mandatar at this fell back, but urged on his 
men from behind, and they attacked us with guns 
and scythes. We sent our bullets amongst them, 
and the foremost of the party, Red Hritzko, turned 
a somersault and lay still on his face. One of us 
had hit him. But they also fired their guns, and 
my brother fell, shot through the heart ! . . . 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


61 


They were too many for us, and they turned upon 
us with their butt ends. But we got away ! . . 

The poor youth told his tale amid gasps and sobs, 
and before he had finished a crowd of villagers had 
gathered. From their houses, from their fields 
round about, the men came running, gathering 
about their judge. Most were fully armed, and all 
were wildly excited ; for the parish field is sacred 
ground with every Slavonic community; he who 
dares touch it is not merely an offender against their 
property, but against their very affections ; it is all 
but sacrilege in the eyes of these men. 

Taras also felt his soul upheave, but he conquered 
his wrath, knowing the people. “If I lose self- 
possession/’ he said to himself, “blood will flow in 
streams to day ! ” So he faced the men, who were 
for pressing on to the scene of the outrage. 
“ Stop! ” he cried, “we shall go in a body! Call 
the elders and the rest of the men.” 

The command was scarcely needed, for they were 
coming, every man of them, and the wives and the 
children. Wrathful cries filled the air, the women 
wailed, and children shrieked with an unknown fear, 
The mother of the young man who had been shot, 
a widow named Xenia, came rushing along ; she 
had torn the kerchief from her head, and her grey 
hair fell in tangled masses round her grief-filled face. 
“ Avenge my child ! ” she implored the judge, 
clasping his knees. 

He lifted her, speaking to her gently ; and turning 
to Simeon and his fellow-elder he ordered them to 
let the men fall in. “ The heads of families only,” 
he said; “let the women and young men stay 
here ! ” 

“ Stay here ! ” shrieked Xenia. 

“ Yes, why ? ” shouted the excited people. “ Let 
every one follow who is able to lift a gun.” 


62 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ My orders shall be obeyed,” cried Taras, 
drawing himself up in their midst. “ I pledge my 
head that I shall do my duty!” These words of 
his were like magic, the people yielded, and the 
procession formed. 

But at this juncture Anusia pressed through the 
crowd, her youngest child on her left arm, her right 
hand brandishing a musket. “ Take it ! ” she cried, 
offering it to her husband ; “ it is my father’s gun 
and never yet missed fire ! ” 

“Go home, wife,” said Taras, “this is not 
woman’s business, I go unarmed.” 

“Why? why?” yelled the people; but she 
caught him by the shoulder in wildest excitement. 
“ Taras ! ” she screamed, “ let me not regret that I 
was saved from the river ! It is a man to whom I 
yielded, and not to a coward ! ” 

“ Eor heaven’s sake, woman,” cried Simeon, 
aghast, “ you know not what you are saying ! ” 

But she continued : “ He who would have peace, 
since blood has been shed, disgraces his manhood. 
Will you allow yourself to be killed without striking 
a blow, iamb that you are ? ” 

Taras stood proudly upright, but his face was livid, 
his eyes were sunk. His breast heaved with the 
tumult within, but not a word passed his lips. Thus 
silently he held out his hand, motioning the woman 
aside, and she obeyed, confounded. 

“ Men of Zulawce,” he said at last, slowly and 
distinctly, but with a voice which, from its strange 
huskiness, no one would have recognised as his, “ I 
speak not now of the dishonour my wife has put 
upon me ; I shall do that by-and-by, in your 
presence likewise. But now I ask you, will you 
obey me as your judge, or will you not? Once 
again, I pledge my head that I shall do my 
duty ! ” 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


63 


“We will,” they cried unanimously. 

“ Then let us go.” And the procession started, 
some sixty men, heads of families, following Taras, 
who led the way with the two elders, Simeon and 
Alexa Sembrow, his own successor. 

The field in question, the common property of the 
community, was an irregular square, sloping towards 
the river, its upper boundary being a coppice which 
also belonged to the parish. A large black cross 
rose in the centre. 

On stepping from the coppice, through which their 
road lay, the peasants could overlook the field at a 
glance. The mandatar with his men had established 
himself by the cross ; he evidently had hired rein- 
forcements, for they numbered some forty. At the 
lower end of the field, by the river, two of his 
labourers were seen ploughing with a yoke of oxen ; 
another team stood ready for use by the cross. On 
the upper part, near the coppice, lay the body of the 
slain youth, evidently dragged thither by Hajek’s 
men. But when the peasants beheld the corpse, and 
the armed band below, their fury knew no bounds ; 
a thundering “ Urrahah ! ” burst from them, and 
they pressed forward. 

But Taras was before them, snatching at Simeon’s 
pistol and turning it against his own forehead. 
“ Stop ! ” he cried with a voice that could not but 
be listened to. “ Another step, and I shall kill myself 
before your eyes.” 

They fell back, hesitating ; but they obeyed. 

The mandatar’s men meanwhile prepared for 
fight, Mr. Wenceslas himself hiding behind them. 
He let his under-steward be spokesman in his stead, 
a huge fellow from Bochnia, Boleslaw Stipinski, by 
name. 

“ What do you want? ” roared this giant ; “ are 
you for fighting or for peaceful speech ? ” 


64 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“We have come to defend our right,” shouted 
Taras. 

“Your wrong, you mean,” returned Boleslaw. 
“ But no matter, we stand on our master’s soil, and 
shall yield it only with our lives. Mr. Hajek is 
prepared to affirm this to the judge and elders, if 
they will step forward.” 

Taras was ready to parley, being followed by 
Simeon and Alexa. They found the mandatar 
crouching on a stone, some of his men lifting their 
guns behind him. 

“ Tell them to put away their firelocks,” said 
Taras, quietly ; “ you need not tremble like that ; if 
it were for fight, we had been here sooner.” 

“Then you are peaceably inclined?” inquired 
Hajek. 

“ If you will own yourself in the wrong, offering 
some atonement for the crime committed.” 

“And if not ? ” 

“ Then we must refer the matter to the court of 
the district.” 

The mandatar recovered himself ; he even smiled. 
“ Perhaps that will not be necessary,” he said. 
“ You are a sensible law-abiding man, Taras, and 
I daresay you will understand my view of the case 
quickly enough. You know that in the days of the 
Emperor J oseph a survey of the property was taken. 
I have the papers, and therein it is plainly put 
down : ‘ The boundary of the parish field is marked 
by the coppice on the one side, by the black cross 
on the other ; beyond the cross as far as the river 
the soil belongs to the Count.’ So you see I am 
entitled to claim for my master that part of this 
field which beyond a doubt is his.” 

“No,” cried Taras; “for when the survey was 
taken, and until fifteen years ago, the black cross 
stood close by the river, leaving a footpath for the 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


65 


Count who has always had the fishing in the Pruth. 
When the old cross was weatherworn the parish 
erected a new one in the centre of the field. That, 
sir, is the plain truth.” 

“ May he,” returned Hajek, smiling. “ I suppose 
that would be a question for the magistrates to look 
into ; in the meantime, I shall act upon the evidence 
of my own eyes. It was natural that I should 
request the men I found ploughing here to take 
themselves off. They fired their guns and killed one 
of my men ; what could we do but fire ours ? and 
I shall keep the two yoke of oxen to indemnify the 
Count for his loss. There, I have done.” 

“ But we have not,” said Taras, solemnly, baring 
his head. “ I call the Almighty to witness that we 
are grievously wronged ! And I protest that we 
could never own you in the right ! It is in obedience 
to our Lord the Emperor, and in obedience to the 
law of God that we have refrained from violence. 
But both the Emperor and the Almighty will see 
us righted ! ” 

“ Well done ! ” said the mandatar, with a sneer. 
“ This is a finer flourish than ever fell from the lips 
of Father Martin ; the pope might fairly be jealous 
of you ! ” 

Taras felt outraged ; but he repressed the 
reproof that rose to his lips, and moved away in 
silence. 

“Well! ” cried the peasants when their leaders 
returned to them; “does he yield? or will you 
permit us now to offer him proof of our right after 
our own fashion ? ” 

“ No ! ” said Taras, “ you shall follow me back to 
the village; we must convene a public meeting. 
But, first, we must carry the dead man into his 
mother’s house, and you, Simeon, meanwhile, ask 
his reverence to join us with the Host.” 


66 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ But what if I find him incapable? ” objected the 
elder. 

“ l No matter, it will not affect that which is holy*” 

Within an hour the community had assembled 
under the shade of the lime tree, outside the village 
inn. Father Martin, too, had arrived in full vest- 
ments, carrying the pix. It being yet early in the 
day, the elder was fortunate in finding him in his 
right mind. 

But before Taras opened the meeting he had a 
domestic matter to settle. His wife lay at his feet, 
and her repentance was as passionate as her wrath 
had been. 

“ Trample upon me,” she wept ; “ cast me from 
you, I have fully deserved it ! ” 

But Taras lifted her up — kissed her. 4 4 I forgive 
it,” he said, 44 but not again ! ” 

And then he went to speak to the people : 44 There 
is not a shadow of a doubt as to our right,” he said, 
44 and therefore the district court will be on our side. 
Self-avenging yields tears and bloodshed only, and is 
likely to leave us in the wrong. I shall start this 
very day for Colomea to demand justice against the 
mandatar, and you shall swear to me now that you 
will keep the peace while I am gone.” 

Father Martin elevated the Host, and the men, 
kneeling, took the oath. 

By noon Taras had set out on his way. He had 
taken his best horse and borrowed another on the 
road, but the distance being a good fifty miles he 
could not reach the town before noon the following 
day. A courier from the mandatar had forestalled 
him. 

The district governor, therefore, Herr Ferdi- 
nand von Bauer, a comfortable elderly gentle- 
man, was not exactly pleased to see the village 
judge, and would have none of his statements. “ I 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


67 


know all about it already,” he said, “ there is no 
need to repeat it.” But Taras insisted on sub- 
stantiating his charge with full particulars, which 
appeared to differ from the account that had been 
rendered to the governor. Anyhow this comfortable 
gentleman began to shake his head, and to pace the 
floor of his office. At last he pulled up in front of 
the peasant, examining his face. “Is this the truth 
you are giving me ? ” he demanded gruffly. 

Taras met his glance fully. “ It is the truth,” he 
said solemnly, “ so help me God ! ” 

“ Humph ! humph ! ” was all the answer vouch- 
safed, and the governor again fell to pacing the floor, 
till after a while he once more stood still in front of 
Taras. “ Be hanged, both of you ! ” he said amiably. 
“I mean both lord of the manor and peasantry. 
Can’t you ever keep the peace ! A nice thing to 
have to arbitrate between you by way of resting 
one’s old bones ! ” To be a district governor in 
Galicia, to his idea, plainly was not a bed of roses. 
“ Go back to your people,” he continued more gently, 
“ I am unable to decide from a distance, but will send 
a commissioner to take evidence on the spot. Mean- 
while, you can bury your dead, since we cannot bring 
them back to life, whatever we finally decide.” 

The judge returned quieted. The peace of the 
village had been kept, in spite of the towering rage 
of the peasants at having to stand by and let the 
mandatar till the field that was not his. The part 
beyond the cross, which Hajek left to the villagers, 
was ploughed and sown presently by Taras’s men. 
“ A man of the law will soon be here,” he com- 
forted himself and others, “ and then we shall be 
righted.” 

A fortnight had elapsed when the expected official 
made his appearance ; but this, unfortunately, did 
not mend matters. It was a certain district com- 


68 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


missioner, Mr. Ladislas Kapronski, called the 
“ snake ” by his colleagues, which appellation fitted 
both his character and his gait, for in the presence 
of a superior this man never did anything but 
wriggle. He may have owed his advancement either 
to this peculiarity or to the number of his years, 
since preferment went by seniority, but never to his 
merits ; for, whatever might be said of his cringing 
and deceitful nature, it was impossible to say aught 
for his capability, or even his desire of doing well. 
And having, moreover, a reputation for being 
frightened at the shadow of a hen, not to say at the 
sight of an infuriated peasantry, this commissioner 
plainly was the man for his mission ! 

And he did not belie his fame. The question of 
murder he disposed of in an off-hand way. “Both 
sides have had a man killed,” he said, “ let us sup- 
pose that they are quits. I may presume they killed 
each other, and since they are dead we cannot punish 
them ; so that is settled.” After a similar fashion 
he decided the question concerning the field. “ I 
find the mandatar in possession for the Count,” he 
said, “ and he can prove his claim from the title- 
deeds. I must, therefore, give judgment in his 
favour.” 

“And if we had ejected him forcibly,” cried 
Taras, bitterly; “if we had not refrained from 
righting ourselves by means of bloodshed, we should 
have found that possession is law ? ” 

“Well, well,” said Mr. Kapronski, trembling at 
this outburst, “ I am sure it is very praiseworthy 
that you did not have recourse to violence. And I 
did not say that possession was law ; indeed, it is 
not always. The field may really be yours ; in that 
case, you must just file a suit and fight it out against 
the lord of the manor, leaving him in possession 
meanwhile.” 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


69 


The peasants demurred, but Taras urged silence. 
“ Is that all you have come to tell us? ” he inquired 
of the commissioner. 

“ Well, yes — certainly. . . . No, stop; there 

is something else. You shall see how anxious I am 
to judge fairly. The two yoke of oxen which the 
mandatar has seized shall be returned to you this 
very day. I have so ordered it, for justice shall be 
done. But be sure and leave the Count in posses- 
sion ; now do, or you will offend grievously.” 

He had jumped back into his vehicle, in a great 
hurry to be gone. He considered he had done his 
duty, and drove away, greatly relieved to see the 
last of these people with their battle-axes and guns. 

Taras for some hours was disconsolate, hut his 
faith in justice restored him. He called together 
the people. “The right will right itself,” he cried. 
“ I trust in God and believe in the Emperor. We 
must go to law ! ” 

But his influence seemed gone. “It is your 
fault,” they exclaimed, “ and you must bear the con- 
sequence ! We men of Zulawce carry a cause with 
gun and axe, and not pen-and-inkwise. It is just 
your tardiness that lost us half the field, we will not 
lose the other half by a law-suit. Or, at least, if 
you will try the law, do so at your own expense.” 

“ I am ready for that,” said Taras. “ A man 
standing up for the right must not stop short of 
victory, even though he should he ruined in the 
attempt.” 

Again he went to Colomea and called upon the 
district governor. But Herr von Bauer turned on 
his heel. “We have done our part,” he said curtly ; 
“if you are not satisfied there is an attorney in the 
place.” 

“ I do not understand,” replied Taras, modestly 
but firmly. “ I want the law to see us righted and 


70 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


is it not you who, in the Emperor’s stead, are here 
to dispense it ? ” 

" You great baby ! ” snorted the governor. But 
good nature supervened ; he came close to Taras, 
laying a hand upon his shoulder. “ Let me make it 
plain to you,” he said. “ If you go and kill the 
mandatar, or if he kills you, it will be my business 
to come down upon you with the law, even if no 
complaint has been urged, for that is a crime. But 
if you and your peasants assert that a field is yours, 
which the steward of the manor has possession of, we 
can only interfere if you bring an action, preferring 
your complaint through an attorney, for that is a 
matter in dispute. Now do you understand? if 
so, go and instruct your lawyer. Do you take it 
in? ” 

“No,” said Taras; “ the right surely must be 
upheld, whether life or property be touched ; and 
to the men of Zulawce that field is as sacred as my 
life is to me. Is not justice in all things the world’s 
foundation? and does not he who disregards it 
wrong the very law of life ! Can it be the Emperor’s 
will that such wrongdoing is not your business ?” 

“ Dear ! dear ! ” groaned the magistrate ; “ have 
I not always said, it’s a precious business to be a 
district governor in Galicia ? Why, you are just 
savages here — no notion of how the law works ! But 
you don’t seem a man to be angry with, so begone in 
peace.” 

Taras quitted the office, standing still outside. 
Disappointment and a sense of personal injury 
surged up within him with a pain so vivid, that he 
had to wrestle with it for fear he should burst into a 
shriek like some wounded animal. 

But he recovered himself and went to seek the 
lawyer. He soon found him— Dr. Eugene Star- 
kowski — a sharp-witted attorney, who at once caught 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


71 


the gist of the matter. He shook his head. “ It was 
foolish,” he said, “to move a landmark ! But I will 
see what I can do for you.” 

“How soon can we expect a decision ? ” 

“ Some time in the autumn.” 

“Not before ! ” exclaimed Taras. 

“No, and you will be lucky if more of your pa- 
tience is not required. It will not be my fault, but you 
see the gentlemen of the court like to take it easy.” 

“ Take it easy ! ” echoed Taras, as one in a dream, 
staring at the lawyer in helpless wonder. “ Take it 
easy!” he repeated wildly. “Oh, sir, this is not 
right ! Justice should flow like a well which all can 
reach, for it is hard to be athirst for it.” 

Starkowski looked at the peasant, first with a kind 
of professional interest only, but with human 
sympathy before long. He smiled — “ I will really 
do my best for you,” he said, and his voice was 
that of a man comforting a grieving child. 

And he did his best, using his every influence to 
expedite the matter. In most lawsuits at that 
time in Galicia six months would slip away before 
even a writ was served upon the defendant, but 
Mr. Hajek, in the present case, received his 
within a week. To be sure, he was entitled to 
a three months’ delay to get up his defence, and he 
availed himself of it to the day — for what purpose, 
the poor peasants presently had reason to suspect. 
On the very last day of the term allowed to him he 
sent in his reply, pleading in exculpation the reasons 
he had given to Taras, and demanding in his turn 
that a commission should be appointed for the 
examining of witnesses on the spot. 

Taras’s counsel was not a little surprised. To 
examine the peasants upon their oath was the 
one means within the reach of the law for arriving 
at the truth concerning the alleged removing of the 


72 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


cross which marked the boundary. It plainly was 
in the mandatar’s interest to prevent this if 
possible, and to take his stand on the ocular 
evidence in his favour, as given in the title deeds. 
Strange that he should propose the very means of 
settling the contest which of all was most likely to 
go against him ! Dr. Starkowski could not make it 
out. “ He is a fool,” he thought, “ unless, after all, 
he is sure of his claim, or, indeed, has bribed 
his witnesses.” And both conjectures appeared to 
him equally unlikely, the former because of the 
solemn soul-stirring manner with which Taras 
had invoked his help ; the latter because of 
the good opinion Mr. Wenceslas enjoyed in the 
district town. For his Parisian antecedents were 
not known there, and society had admitted him to 
its bosom as an amiable gentleman of irreproach- 
able character. 

But since both parties were ready to be put upon 
their oath, there was nothing else to he done. And 
the same genius of justice who in the spring had so 
capably decided that there was no one to be accused 
of murder, was despatched in the autumn to act for 
the civil law. 

“ Examine matters carefully, Mr. Kapronski,” 
said the district governor; “take the deposi- 
tions of every individual witness, impressing them 
with the sanctity of the oath. Go into the 
case thoroughly — there is no danger to yourself — 
and be sure not to hurry it over.” 

The commissioner, with an obsequious wriggle, 
departed on his mission. “ The old fool,” he 
said, when seated in his vehicle, “as though it 
did not depend on a man’s sagacity much more 
than on his taking time ! I’ll see through the 
business in less than two hours, I will.” 

He was expected at Zulawce, and all the com- 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


73 


munity had turned out to receive him — men, women, 
children, not to forget Father Martin, who, let it be 
said of him, for once had eschewed his favourite 
solace, and was perfectly sober. Mr. Hajek, too, had 
arrived, followed by the gigantic Boleslaw and a 
number of labourers on the estate. The com- 
missioner drew up amongst them, and alighting 
beneath the village linden, called for a table from 
the inn. 

“ That is the first of my requirements,” he said 
to the mandatar ; “ the second I have brought with 
me,” pointing at a puffing clerk, who was seen 
descending from his seat by the coachman, with a 
huge parcel of red-taped foolscap and an inkstand 
large enough to bespeak the importance of the pro- 
ceedings. “ The third requisite,” continued the 
commissioner, “ a crucifix, no doubt these good 
people can provide.” 

They procured one from the nearest house. It 
was placed upon the table. 

“ To add to the solemnity,” whispered the clerk, 
“ two burning candles . . . ” 

“ No need,” interrupted the commissioner. “ I 
myself will be a light to their understanding.” But 
his voice, as he turned to the people, quivered with 
anxiety. “ I have come,” he said, “ to find out where 
the black cross, now in the centre of the so-called 
parish field, may have stood sixteen years ago. This 
is all the evidence I care for. So whoever of you 
has no testimony to offer on this head may take 
himself off — have the goodness to retire, I mean ! ” 

A few labourers from the lowlands only obeyed 
this injunction, no one else moving. All eyes were 
fixed on him, such proceedings, indeed, not being an 
every-day spectacle. 

“ It is alleged,” resumed Mr. Kapronski, “ that 
the cross in question was removed from its formed 
4 


74 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


position fifteen years ago. Now, those only can 
affirm or deny this who were not children at the 
time. I will listen to no one, therefore, who has 
not passed his thirtieth year. I mean, all that are 
younger, I will ask them kindly to retire.” 

No one stirred. Kapronski looked about with an 
uncertain gaze. Happily, Taras came to the rescue. 

“Have you not understood?” he cried, with 
far-reaching voice. “ Whoever has not reached his 
thirtieth year is not wanted.” 

It sufficed. First the girls ran away, followed by 
the women and children, the young men leaving 
reluctantly. Some two hundred of the villagers 
were left, forming a dense crowd round the table. 

“ And now, listen,” continued the commissioner. 
“ Whoever has no clear personal recollection where 
the cross stood sixteen years ago, let him lift his 
right hand.” 

Only two hands were lifted — those of the leaders 
of the contending parties. “ I came to the village 
eighteen months ago,” said the mandatar. “And I 
ten years ago,” said the judge. 

“ Never mind ! ” cried Kapronski, hastily. 

“ Please stay ; these men might ” he surveyed 

the stalwart assembly with evident embarrassment, 
and then added, “you have a right to watch the 
proceedings ! Please, Mr. Mandatar, step to the 
right of the table; and you, Mr. Taras, to the 
left.” 

“ Now then, listen ! ” he repeated, addressing 
himself once more to the people. “ Whoever of you 
remembers for a certainty that sixteen years ago the 
black cross stood where it now stands, in the centre 
of the field, let him step to the right, taking his 
place beside Mr. Hajek. But whoever, on the con- 
trary, is sure of recollecting that the cross sixteen 
years ago stood by the river and was removed thence 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


75 


to its present place a twelvemonth later, let him step 
to the left side, joining your judge.” 

The division took place amid ominous growls, 
which broke into exclamations of unbounded wrath 
and indignant imprecations when the opposing par- 
ties stood facing each other. “You curs!” cried 
the peasants, brandishing their axes. For not only 
was the mandatar supported by the labourers and 
farmers of the manorial estate, but, contrary to all 
expectation, some of the villagers had gone to his 
side — drunkards and others of low character. Now, 
whatever these might be thought capable of, no one 
had given them credit for such open treason against 
the community — the very worst of crimes in the eyes 
of those people, to whom no bond is more sacred 
than that between man and man for the common 
weal. And what carried their disgust to its height 
was the fact that the son of their own old judge had 
joined the enemy. Harasim Woronka, too, had 
taken his place beside the mandatar, not won over 
by bribery like the rest of them, but by his own 
thirst for revenge : it seemed an opportunity for 
crushing the hated stranger. Harasim was fast 
going to ruin, and in his fuddled brain the thought 
kept burning : “If it were not for Taras I might be 
judge this day, besides being Anusia’s husband and 
the richest man of the village.” And whatever 
benefit he had received at the hands of the noble- 
hearted stranger had been like oil to the fire of his 
hatred. Too cowardly for an open act of revenge, he 
had lent a willing ear to the tempter coming to him 
in the guise of Boleslaw ; but what little good was 
left in his degraded soul must have pleaded with his 
conscience even now, for he stood trembling visibly. 

“You miserable woman of a man!” roared the 
insulted peasants ; “ you disgrace your father in his 
very grave ! ” Harasim grew white, his hands 


76 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


clutching the air like a drowning man, for not a 
more terrible reproach can be offered to a child of 
that race. Indeed, he would have owned his 
wickedness there and then by returning to the 
ranks of those to whom he belonged by kinship 
and destiny, had not Boleslaw interfered, seizing 
the wavering object with his huge hand and holding 
him tight. 

“ Murder ! ” roared the peasants, making an on- 
slaught against the giant. It seemed as though the 
fury of bloodshed were let loose. 

The three men by the table looked upon this 
scene with greatly differing sensations. The com- 
missioner had grown ashy, being ready to swoon. 
Mr. Hajek, on the contrary, quivered with elation, 
but strove to hide his sense of victory beneath a 
mask of aggrieved consternation, saying to the re- 
presentative of the law: “There, now, is it not 
almost impossible to maintain one’s right with such 
people?” The virtuous creature would have felt 
doubly elated had one of the uplifted axes silenced 
Harasim for ever. 

But that, to his disappointment, was prevented 
by the resolute and magnanimous courage of Taras, 
the judge. The treachery of Harasim had hurt 
him more than any of the others ; but for a moment 
only did he yield to his feelings, duty coming to his 
rescue and making him strong. “Forbear!” he 
cried, with powerful voice. “ Forbear,” echoed the 
elders, and with them he faced the enraged 
peasants. They fell back, leaving a space between 
the two parties. 

Kapronski kept shaking and quaking; his blanched 
lips opened and shut, but they framed not a sound. 
Luckily for him, an incident — partly ludicrous, but 
in truth most sad — at this juncture diverted atten- 
tion from his own miserable self; for, when the 


taking up the battle. 


77 

parties once more stood facing each other, they per- 
ceived what had escaped their infuriated senses before, 
that one man had not joined either side, but was left 
standing in the middle — the village pope, Martin 
Sustenkowicz. Nor did the shepherd of Zulawce 
at this moment look like the happy peacemaker 
between his belligerent parishioners, being too 
plainly of a divided mind, and dolefully unsettled. 

“ Why, your reverence,” cried the under-steward, 
“ what are you about ! Did you not swear to me 
yesterday that the mandatar was in the right ? ” 

“ Ah — hm — yes — yesterday! ” stammered the pope, 
with a dazed look at the peasants, and taking an un- 
certain step to the other side. 

“ Stop ! not this way, little father ! ” broke in 
Alexa, seizing him by his caftan ; “ did not you tell 
me this very morning : ‘ The field is yours most 
certainly, for with my own hands I consecrated the 
new cross fifteen years ago ’ ? ” 

“ Hm — ah — yes — consecrated ! ” groaned the poor 
man helplessly, a distracted figure in their midst. 
The mandatar took pity on him. 

“ Move this way,” he said, with wicked sarcasm, 
“there is room behind the table right away from 
the contending parties. We have no candles to 
solemnise the scene, let the light of your coun- 
tenance make up for it, illumining this crowd of 
witnesses.” 

The commissioner meanwhile had partly recovered, 
and had found his voice, though a husky one. “ I 
must administer the oath,” he said, “for you have 
given evidence by taking your position either on this 
side or on that. Let any one who cannot swear to 
his deposition show it by lifting his hand.” 

Not a finger moved. 

Kapronski gasped. He was anxious to get over 
the business, but this state of things seemed to force 


78 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


from him some kind of exhortation. “ My good 
people,” he cried, “ why, perjury is no joke ! There’s 
a Judge in heaven you know, and — hm — I mean — we 
punish any one convicted of swearing falsely. And 
— it seems plain — only one of the parties can take 
their oath honestly. So do consider, I entreat you ! 
Now then — which of you cannot — hm — ought not, to 
swear ? ” 

But his well-meant speech fell flat. The only 
witness whose hand seemed to make an upward 
movement, Harasim Woronka, let drop his arm 
when the overpowering Boleslaw whispered in his 
ear: “Wretched coward, shall Taras reioice after 
all ? ” 

The commissioner wiped his brow — this was more 
than he dared report to his superiors. “ Unheard 
of case ! ” he groaned, turning to the mandatar. 
“ Hadn’t we better get the priest to speak to the 
people? ” 

“ By all means,” replied Mr. Hajek, with his most 
pious mien ; “I have no doubt he will vastly influ- 
ence the sleeping conscience.” 

But Taras shook his head. “Mr. Kapronski,” he 
said, “ it is a sad thing for people to be shepherded as 
we are. You see with your own eyes what manner 
of man he is. But we poor peasants have no voice 
in the matter, we can only strive to reverence the 
holy things, if we cannot reverence him who dis- 
penses them. Therefore we try to avoid anything 
that must lower him in our eyes, for it is not well 
when the people are given cause of mockery. Nay, 
it is not well, God knows ! Judge for yourself, sir, 
would it he fit to let him speak to the people at this 
solemn moment ? Bor is not an oath an awful thing, 
terribly awful? ” 

Kapronski breathed, relieved. Were not the peas- 
ants the accusers in this matter ? If they, then, were 


TAKING UP THE BATTLE. 


79 


satisfied to have no further exhortation, he was not 
accountable for any consequences. He stepped for- 
ward. “ I put you all upon your oath,” he said, 
baring his head, and every one present followed his 
example. And having once again stated the matter 
to be sworn, the peasants, one after another, passed 
in front of the crucifix, giving their names and lifting 
three fingers of their right hand, saying : “ I swear.” 
But the mandatar’s party after them, to a man, took 
the oath likewise. It was done quietly and quickly. 

The commissioner pulled out his watch. ‘ ‘ An hour 
and forty minutes,” he said, triumphantly. His 
vehicle had stood by in readiness. He mounted at 
once, and quitted the village with all possible speed. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


UTUMN, as a rule, is by far the most pleasant 



season in the Galician highlands. The 
winter there is long, dreary, and trying ; the spring 
cool, and all too short ; the summer exceedingly hot, 
and liable to thunderstorms almost daily. But in 
the autumn Nature wears a genial face in the up- 
lands, with a delicious continuance of sunshine, 
when the airy dome is scarcely ruffled by the breeze, 
and wondrously clear ; day succeeding day of this 
gentle splendour till late in November sometimes. 
Not so, however, in the year we are speaking of. 
In that season the birds had left early for their 
southern haunts, the earth looking bare and cheer- 
less all of a sudden ; the sun had hidden within 
heavy clouds, and the whirling snowflakes were at 
their chill play before September was well out. 
Brighter days once more supervened, hut they were 
bitterly cold, ushering in a fresh fall of snow and a 
dismal twilight of the heavens, which seemed 
determined to last. 

The people sat gloomily by their firesides, grow- 
ing the more alarmed at this early show of 
winter as they listened to the tales of the old 
folk among them, who remembered a similar 
season in their youth — the winter of 1792 — 
which was a terrible visitation in that country, 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


81 


beginning as early as the present one. In that 
year the cold grew so intense that men scarcely 
ventured outside their cottages, because every 
breath they drew went like daggers to their lungs, 
and their limbs were benumbed in the space of a 
few minutes, so that even in trying to get from one 
end of the village to the other some had been frozen 
to death. And the snow drifted in such masses 
that the dwellers in the glens were hopelessly shut 
up, some actually dying of starvation. Thus ran 
the terrible tale ; but the old folk at Zulawce were 
like old people everywhere, and the dread experience 
of their youth grew in horror with the receding 
years. The spectres of fear roused by these 
memories kept glaring at men and women within 
the lowly cottages. 

Distress and suffering seemed at hand ; and the poor 
were the poorer for the loss of the common field, the 
produce of which would have yielded them a welcome 
share. But more than this, the harvest had failed 
in part, and the cold overtaking the land so early 
threatened to destroy the winter crop. Thus the 
future was as clouded as the present, and want 
might be looked for. Had such trouble befallen 
the men of the lowlands they would have borne it 
sadly and meekly, bowing their heads before the 
Lord of the seasons. But not so the defiant 
natures at Zulawce, questioning their fate indig- 
nantly, and looking about for one who might bear 
the brunt of their anger; for, with the strong, 
affliction is apt to blaze forth in wrath. Their 
scapegoat was easily found ; for who else should be 
to blame for the loss of that field if not Taras, 
their long-suffering judge ! 

Grievous days had come to him, and he would not 
have known how to bear his burden, but for the 
conviction upholding him that the decision of the 
4 * 


82 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


court could not long be delayed now. This alone 
gave him the strength to continue his sorrowful duty 
day after day. The mandat ar pitilessly went on 
grasping at every pound of flesh he might claim; 
the community either could or would not yield it. 
If Taras tried to reason with them to submit to the 
forest labour, which again had been sold, they re- 
torted it was not their duty, and even he might know 
now what came of being too docile towards a rascally 
land-steward ! Besides they had not the strength 
for it now, they said, half-starving as they were ; and 
but for him the produce of that field by the river 
might now be safely stored in their granaries. 
And on his replying that, in that case, he must discon- 
tinue his office, they said scornfully their little father 
Stephen had been a judge for fair days as well as 
foul ; it was a pity that he was gone, since his successor 
evidently was not like him in this. And Taras felt 
this taunt far more deeply than even the passionate 
appeals of his wife. He resolved to see the matter 
to its end; and, since there seemed no other means, 
he had the required forest labour done by his own 
men, or by others willing to work for his pay. 

“ We can afford it,” he consoled his more prudent 
wife, “ and if I thus step into the breach for the 
parish it is not as though I took it from the property 
which you have brought to me, since I have added to it 
honestly by my own diligence. And I shall have a 
right to expect indemnification when better days shall 
have come round. God surely will see to our being 
righted, and He will lessen the burden we now have 
to bear. Besides, a verdict must reach us before 
long, and there cannot be any doubt but that the 
court will see that the village has been wronged.” 

The verdict, however, was still delayed. Week 
after week passed amid suffering and dejection, and 
Christmas to the villagers brought nothing of its 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


83 


own good cheer. For the grim snowstorms con- 
tinued, and if at intervals the skies would brighten, 
it was only to usher in still sharper frosts. 

It was on the Epiphany of 1837 that the rigorous 
cold unexpectedly came to an end. Quite early on 
that day the people had been waked from their 
sleep by strange noises in the air, and rushing from 
their houses, were met by an unwonted warmth. 
It was the south wind so ardently longed for. It 
did not blow long enough to bring about any 
melting of the snow, folding its merciful wings 
all too soon; but the terrible cold nevertheless 
appeared to have received its death blow, the 
temperature not again sinking much below freezing 
point. 

And in happy mood old and young that morning 
went to church; men even who had been sworn 
enemies for years would look at each other 
pleasantly at the welcome change. Taras also 
beheld brighter faces, and heard kinder words than 
had fallen on his ear since the sorrowful spring- 
time. Indeed, so strong and general was the feeling 
of relief and of gratitude due to the Almighty, that 
even the pope was seized by the wave and 
carried to a shore of contrition he had not reached 
for many a year. Mass had been read, and the 
people were about to depart, quite accustomed to 
the fact that Father Martin, on account of his own 
sad failing, would excuse the sermon ; but they were 
startled by his request to resume their seats, and he 
actually mounted his pulpit. Poor man, he could 
not give them much of a discourse, but such as it 
was it lent expression to their own feelings, and 
could not fail to touch their hearts. 

The people, who were in a good frame of mind, 
after church gathered in groups outside. There 
was the weather to be talked about, and the 


64 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


sermon, and the lawsuit; concerning the latter, 
some of those even who bore Taras the deepest 
grudge were heard to say, “ Who can tell but that 
it may end well after all.” 

And the most cheerful was Taras himself. He 
moved about from group to group, kindly words 
passing to and fro. “ Let us trust God,” he kept 
saying ; “ He has dispelled the fearful cold ; at His 
touch the wrong, too, will vanish. My heart tells 
me so ! The verdict cannot be delayed much longer, 
we may even hear of it before the day is out.” 

These words had scarcely fallen from his lips, 
when that happened which, however frequent in 
fiction, is rare enough in actual life — his expecta- 
tion was realised there and then. Up the road 
from the river a sledge was seen advancing, driven 
by a peasant and carrying, it appeared, a large 
bundle of fur-rugs. No human occupant was 
visible when the vehicle stopped amid the staring 
peasantry, but the rug-bundle began to move, 
throwing off its outer covering, a bear-skin ; a good- 
sized sheep-skin peeling off next, revealing as 
its kernel a funny little hunchbacked figure, an 
elderly townsman rather shabbily clad. He rose to 
hisfeet, inquiring, with agreat deal of condescension : 
“ My good people, is the judge of this village any- 
where among you ? ” 

The stalwart peasantslaughed at the puny creature, 
and even Taras, moving up to the sledge, could not 
repress a smile. “And what do you want with 
him ? ” 

The stranger pursed his mouth ; his hand dived 
into his pocket and produced an alarming pair of 
spectacles, which he put upon his shrivelled nose, 
plainly desirous of adding dignity to that feature, 
and then he said slowly, almost solemnly, “ A man 
like you should say 4 your worship * to me ! I am 


TfiE WRONG- VICTORIOUS. 85 

Mr. Michael Stupka, head clerk of Dr. Eugene 
Starkowski.” 

Taras shook from head to foot, and clutching the 
man, he stammered, “ You have come to tell us the 
verdict ! you have got a letter for me ! ” 

And all the peasants pressed round them. “ Ah ! ” 
they cried, ‘‘we have got the field back, no 
doubt ! . . . Long live Taras, the judge ; he was 
right after all. . . But do read us your letter.” 

The terrified clerk all this time endeavoured to 
free himself from the iron grasp that held him as in 
a vice. “ Stand off ! ” he groaned. “ I have brought 
you the verdict — yes ; but. . .” He faltered. 

Taras grew white. Hardly knowing what he did, 
he, with his strong arm, lifted the little man right 
out of the sledge, putting him down on the ground 
before him. “No,” he said hoarsely, “it cannot 
be ! The verdict surely is in our favour? ” 

“Why, dear me, can I help it?” wailed the 
dwarfish creature. “ Are you savages here, or 
what ! Ah, you are strangling me. . . it is not my 
fault, I am only a clerk and of no consequence what- 
ever. . . I assure you ! And Dr. Starkowski tried 
his best. Moreover, the matter need not rest here ; 
don’t you know that there is such a thing as an 
appeal? ” 

But Taras evidently did not take in this hint any 
more than he had understood the preceding words. 
One thought only had laid hold of him, and he reeled 
like a stricken man. “ Lost ! ” he groaned hoarsely, 
the ominous syllable being taken up more shrilly by 
the peasants, who pressed closer still. 

The clerk, meanwhile, had produced the documents 
of which he was the bearer, the one being a writ of 
the court, the other a letter of Dr. Starkowski’s. 
“There! ” he cried, thrusting them under Taras’s nose. 

Taras was striving to regain his composure. “ We 


86 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


are unable to read writing,” he said, gasping. “ You 
must tell us what the lawyers have got to say. To 
whom have they adjudged the field? ” 

But Mr. Stupka did not feel it prudent to answer 
this question right out. He broke the official seal, 
putting on a look of the greatest importance. 
“ With pleasure, good people,” he said condescend- 
ingly, “ with pleasure ! I’ll read it to you, and trans- 
late it presently into plain language. The legal 
style, you know. . .” 

But Taras interrupted him. “ To ivliom ? ” he 
repeated, more emphatically. 

“ Well, I should say,” stammered the luckless 
clerk, “ I should say. . . to the lord of the manor, 
so to speak.” 

“ It is a lie,” shrieked Taras ; “ it cannot be ! ” 
But the peasantry veering round, cried scornfully : 
“ Did we not tell you that going to law is a folly? 
You have done it now ! ” 

Utterly beside himself with the passion of his 
disappointment, the judge clenched his fists and 
set his teeth in the face of the mocking crowd, but 
the two elders laid their hands on him gently. “ Do 
not give way,” begged the faithful Simeon, “ try and 
bear the blow ; let us hear the verdict first, and 
then we will consider what next can be done.” 

The clerk spread out the document. “ In the 
name of the Emperor ! ” he began, translating the 
somewhat lengthy preamble. The villagers loyally 
had pulled off their caps ; Taras only thought not 
of baring his head. Simeon endeavoured to remind 
him, but the judge shook him off. The honest 
man looked at him doubtfully, and receded a step. 
The others did not notice it, too intent upon the 
verdict. 

It was a long piece of legal rhetoric, substantiating 
every statement with a flourish of evidential 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


87 


reasoning, in the German language, which in those 
days was the medium for judicial transactions 
throughout that conglomerate of Babel-tongued 
countries going by the name of Austria. It was 
no easy undertaking to translate the strangely intri- 
cate periods of official verbosity into the simple 
vernacular of the listeners ; but Mr. Stupka, 
being as clever as he was small, contrived to make 
himself understood. The verdict amounted to a 
dismissal of the case, because the plaintiffs could not 
bring forward sufficient proof to uphold their claim. 
The description of the field in the title deeds, it 
said, was in favour of the party in present posses- 
sion, and if a number of witnesses upon their oath 
had given contrary evidence, their testimony 
was invalidated by counter-evidence upon oath 
likewise. It was not the court’s business in civil 
cases to start an inquiry whether false witness 
possibly had been tendered ; it was rather the duty 
of the court to decide which evidence weighed 
heavier in the scale, and the balance had inclined in 
favour of manorial rights. It seemed strange, also, 
that the village judge, as had been reported, should 
have opposed the exhortation of the witnesses by 
means of the pope. . . . 

Up to this point Taras had listened in silence 
and motionless, but now a shudder ran through his 
body, and he clenched his fists. “ Ye adders,” he 
panted ; “ye deceitful adders ! ” 

“ Bear it,” whispered Simeon, entreatingly, 
putting his arm round his reeling friend. But 
Taras scarcely needed the admonition as far as 
keeping silence was concerned, for his eyes closed ; 
he seemed on the point of swooning. 

And moreover, the clerk continued, it was a 
fact that among those who had given their oath in 
favour of the manorial claim had been several heads 


88 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


of families of the village, men, therefore, who 
tendered witness against their own interest. Such 
evidence could not easily he set aside. Considering 
all these points, therefore, the case was dismissed, 
the plaintiffs to bear the costs, as was meet and just. 

“ Just ! ” echoed the men in savage scorn, Taras 
alone keeping silence. His hand went to his heart 
suddenly, he staggered and fell heavily, as a man 
struck by lightning. 

For hours he lay in a swoon. They had carried 
him into his house ; but neither the lamentations of 
his wife, nor their united endeavours to restore 
animation seemed to penetrate the dead darkness 
that had fallen on his soul. And when at last he 
opened his eyes his words appeared to them so 
utterly strange that they were more frightened still. 
“ The very foundations are giving,” he kept crying, 
“the holiest is being dragged low!” And he, in 
whose eyes no one ever had seen a tear, was seized 
with a paroxysm of weeping. He bemoaned his 
terrible fate, and between his sobs he called for his 
children, to take leave of them, he said. And he 
repeated this request so urgently that they could 
but humour him. It was a pitiful scene, and one 
after another the neighbours went away shudder- 
ingly, Simeon Pomenko only watching through the 
night by the sufferer’s couch. But in the village 
the news spread that the judge, for sorrow, had 
gone out of his mind. 

Not till the following morning did this piece of 
information come to the ears of the mandatar, 
Mr. Hajek having spent the night at Zablotow, 
playing at cards with the officers of the hussars. 
His under-steward, Boleslaw, impatiently lay in 
wait against his return, never doubting but that the 
news would fall on delighted ears, and he was not a 
little surprised at the mandatar’s evident dismay, 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


89 


Nor was this put on ; for the Count, still enlarging 
his acquaintances at Paris, had, through his friends 
the usurers, got introduced to their solicitors* and 
Hajek knew he must send him the wherewithal to 
stem the scandal of a prosecution, whatever he 
might wish to keep hack for himself. So money, 
more than ever, was the need of the moment ; and 
having succeeded in one villainous trick, he might 
hope to develop his talents for the further fleecing 
of the peasantry, and it was highly important, 
therefore, that the community should be repre- 
sented by a judge who, at the risk of whatever 
loss to himself, was bent on keeping the people 
from offering violence. 

“ Gone out of his mind? Dear me, I am sorry,” 
he said, honestly too. “ But I daresay report 
has exaggerated the fact. He may have had a 
blow, but I do not believe he is the man to go mad. 
Go to his wife and tell her, with my compliments, 
that I shall be pleased to send for the best doctor at 
Colomea at my own expense.” 

The man hung back. “ I am no coward,” he 
said presently, “ and I think I could face any 
dozen of the peasants, if you wished it. But as for 
this woman — sir, do you know she is a regular 
Huzul, quite a spitfire of a temper — and a man after 
all has only one pair of eyes to lose ! ” 

The mandatar did not care what risk these optics 
might run ; the man had to carry his message. 
He was relieved, however, on entering the judge’s 
house. The two elders, Simeon and Alexa were 
with the sufferer, and he appeared to be listening to 
their words. The storm had not yet subsided which 
tore his soul, and threatened to change the very 
drift of his being. He who his life long had stood 
like a rock against the surges of trouble, who had 
won happiness and prosperity through steadfast 


90 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


endurance, was sobbing and wailing like a child, 
and, his friends could not but tremble for his reason 
as they heard his pitiful plaints. “ I have striven 
to pass my life in honour,” he would moan, “ and 
now it must end in shame ! And what of my poor 
children, since I have no choice but to follow the 
dictate of my heart? ” 

He saw the under-steward enter cautiously, and 
his pale face grew crimson at the sight. Simeon 
rose hastily to send away the unwelcome visitor, 
but Taras interfered. “ Glad to see you, friend 
Boleslaw ! ” he cried, cuttingly. “ What good news 
has brought yon hither ? ” 

The giant delivered his errand, stammeringly. 

“ Send for a doctor — indeed — at his own ex- 
pense ! ” repeated Taras. “ Well, I did not require 
this proof to tell me that the mandatar is an honest 
man ! ” And therewith he closed his eyes, lying 
still like a sleeping babe. 

Boleslaw paused. “ Shall I ” he began pre- 

sently, addressing the elders. But at the sound 
Taras opened his eyes. “ Leave this house ! ” he 
cried, with a voice of thunder, and the powerful 
man quaked, making good his escape. 

Taras watched his retreat, smiling strangely. 
“This message is something to be thankful for! 
You, my friends, could not help me, but this insult 
brings me back to myself. I shall fight against my 
ghastly destiny while yet I may ! ” 

“ What destiny ? ” said Simeon, soothingly. “ Do 
look at it calmly. You have, in a just cause, done 
your utmost to see us righted ; and you have failed 
honourably. What else could there be said? ” 

“ What else? ” reiterated Taras. “ And since it 
is a just cause — but what use in talking! ... I 
daresay you thought I had lost my reason, because 
I have cried and wailed like a woman — did you ? ” 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


91 


His friends endeavoured to look unconcerned. 
“But, I tell you,” he continued, with trembling 
voice, “ it will be well if you never have occasion to 
find out that, though reeling, my mind was terribly 
clear ! . . . I will try to spare you the discovery. 
I want to see that clerk again.” 

“ He has left,” returned Simeon ; “ he thrust his 
papers into my hand when you had fainted, and 
turning his horses’ heads he made the utmost speed 
to leave us. The poor creature was really quite 
frightened; never in his life again would he carry 
a verdict to savages, he said.” 

Taras could not help smiling. “ Then I must ask 
the pope to read me that .letter,” he said. “ Leave 
the room, I shall be ready to join you in a few 
minutes.” 

“Do not exert yourself just yet,” entreated Simeon. 

But Taras looked up sternly. “ Do not hinder 
me, man,” he cried, “ cannot you see that my very 
fate is at stake ! ” 

The men left him misgivingly. 

“ What do you think of it? ” said Alexa, as they 
stood waiting in the yard. 

“ God knows ! ” replied Simeon, troubled. “ But 
I cannot forget how he refused to uncover when the 
verdict was being read.” 

The voice of Anusia was heard, who would not 
let her husband go from the house. “You will be 
fainting again ! ” she lamented. But Taras, though 
white as death, stepped forth, treading firmly. 

The three men walked away to call on Father 
Martin ; but on entering the manse his housekeeper, 
Praxenia, met them with a tearful face. She was 
an elderly spinster from the village who had presided 
over his domestic concerns since the popadja had 
departed this life, leaving the pope a widower. 

“ God o’ mercy,” she sobbed, looking at Taras, 


92 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ it’s a blessing that you, at least, have got back your 
wits. They said in the village that you had lost 
them. But you are all right, I see — would I could 
say as much for the poor little father. He is quite 
off his head, I assure you ; regular mad if ever man 
was ! ” 

“ He will come round again, no doubt,” said 
Taras. “ I daresay he has had a glass too much.” 

“Ah, no,” wept the good spinster ; “that were 
nothing since we are used to it ! He has not had a 
drop since yesterday, poor old man, who never could 
do without his tipple ; it is that which frightens me ! 
He is lying quite still now, staring blankly, and 
talking a heap of nonsense between whiles.” 

“Humph,” grunted Simeon, “that certainly 
looks alarming. I have known him these twenty 
years, he never showed such symptoms.” 

“ Didn’t I say so — a very bad sign, surely ! And 
all on account of that sermon, would you believe it? 
But let me tell you how it happened. I had gone 
to his room quite early yesterday morning — would I 
had bitten my tongue off first ! though my going in 
was quite innocent-like. ‘Little Father,’ I said, 

‘ there’s a thaw setting in, and the parish is just 
beside itself with joy.’ ‘Beside itself? dear! 
dear ! ’ he said, * I must go and see,’ and off he 
trotted. But very soon he came back again, his 
eyes positively shining. ‘ Naughty, naughty, little 
father,’ I said, ‘ you have gone and been at 
Avrumko’s — very naughty, so early in the day, and 
before reading mass ! ’ But he insisted that he had 
not been near the inn, and that nothing but the 
common delight had so excited him. ‘ Ah ! 
Praxenia,’ he said, ‘ what a day to have seen — all 
the village is praising the Lord for His goodness. I 
must give them a sermon to-day, I must, indeed ! ’ 
‘ Little Father,’ I said, severely, ‘ you had better not 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


93 


attempt it ; yon know it is beyond you now, and the 
people will only laugh at you ; don’t you remember 
how it was five years ago?’ ‘I do,’ he said, 
ruefully, ‘ but I shall do better to-day.* There was 
no convincing him, he locked himself into his study, 
and through the door I could hear him at his 
sermon — pacing his floor I mean — vigorously, till the 
bells began ringing for service. I went to church, 
not a little anxious, you will believe me, and when 
he mounted his pulpit, as he had threatened, I said 
to myself : * You’ll stick fast, little father, and be 
sorry that you ever went up.’ But not he — well 
you were there yourselves, and you know how 
beautifully he got through it, never once 
blowing his nose or scratching his ears — the 
beautifullest sermon ever spoken, though I say it, 
and moving all the parish to tears ! I walked home 
proudly to look after his dinner, poor man, and said 
to myself he should have as many glasses now as 
he liked. But what was my surprise on going to 
his room presently, to find him weeping there, 
shedding the biggest tears I ever saw. ‘ Ah, 
Praxenia,’ he sobbed, ‘ to think of the Lord’s good- 
ness in giving me this day. I have not deserved it, 
miserable old tippler that I am ! ’ What was I to 
answer ? I got his dinner ready, putting his bottle 
beside it; and he sat down at my bidding, but 
never a morsel he touched, his eyes looking brighter 
and queerer than ever. ‘ Have a drop, little 
father,’ I said, 4 I’m afraid you are faint-like.* 
‘No,*’ he said, sharply, pushing the bottle from 
him. Then I knew that something was wrong. 
And all the rest of the day, till late in the evening, 
he kept walking about his room, muttering the 
beautifullest words — preparing his sermon, he said, 
when I asked him. Not till late at night could I 
get a spoonful of soup down his throat, making 


94 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


him take to his bed— no great battle, for although 
he is hardly more than sixty, he is just a child 
for weakness when the schnaps is out of him. 
1 Now you must go to sleep,’ I said, sternly. But 
not he ! He folded his hands, lying still, with his 
shining eyes, muttering at times. He is going to 
die, I tell you ! ” 

The men were endeavouring to dissuade her from 
this mournful view, but were less certain of their 
own opinion when they stood by the bedside. The 
poor pope’s appearance had changed alarmingly 
since yesterday. The face was worn and white, the 
wrinkles had deepened, and there was a strange 
light in his eyes. 

But he knew Taras. “Ah — is it you?” he 
murmured. . . . “ ‘ And he judged Israel in the 

days of the Philistines twenty years.’ . . . The 

bells are ringing. ... I must preach to the 
people. . . . What is it you want?” 

“ I came to ask you to read a letter to me, but 1 
am afraid you are not well, and it is rather a 
closely-written epistle.” 

“Epistle? yes,” returned the pope, catching at 
the word. “ The first of the Corinthians. . . . 

‘ Though I speak with the tongues of angels, and 
have not charity. . . . believeth all things, hopeth 
all things, endureth all things. . . . Charity 

never faileth.’ . . .” And on he wandered. 

The men saw it was hopeless, and left him. “ It 
is strange,” said Simeon ; “ our pope never spoke 
such edifying words while he had his wits about 
him. It does seem alarming.” 

But Taras’s thoughts ran on a different track. 
He started. “ I must go to Colomea,” he said. 
“ There could not be much in a mere letter, after 
all. I must see the lawyer myself as soon as 
possible.” 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


95 


He appeared so fully determined that his friends 
could hut listen in silence, and even Anusia 
saw he must have his way, though she demurred. 
“It were far better to leave the thing alone,” she 
said. “ If you are bent on making a sacrifice for 
the parish, give them the field we bought two years 
ago, it will make up for their loss, and it were better 
than losing everything through the lawyers.” 

“ You are the best of wives,” he said, “ but you 
do not understand. It is not merely about the field 
which is lost : but my fate, and yours, and the 
children’s is at stake.” 

“What is this you are saying?” she cried, 
alarmed; but he had touched his horse, and the 
sledge was flying along the road towards the district 
town. 

He entered the outer office of Starkowski’s the 
following day, but no sooner had Mr. Stupka caught 
sight of him than he flew from his chair, disappearing 
in an inner chamber with the startled cry : “ Heaven 
help us ! a ghost. . . the dead judge ! ” 

But the attorney came forth undaunted. “ I am 
pleased to see you,” he said, shaking hands. “ I felt 
pretty sure my clerk had been exaggerating in 
reporting you dead. I suppose it was the painful 
disappointment which stunned you?” 

“ More than this,” said Taras, “it was the bitter 
consciousness that this verdict must change all the 
future current of my life, unless, indeed, it can be 
annulled. I have come to find out whether this is 
possible. Maybe your letter said something about 
it — I cannot read.” 

“No, the letter was only to tell you the costs,” 
explained Dr. Starkowski, “ one hundred and twelve 
florins. But there is no hurry whatever, you may 
pay me at your convenience. I had nothing further 
to tell you, for I never advise carrying a suit into a 


96 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


higher court unless there be some hope of a suc- 
cessful ” 

“ Sir,” interrupted Taras, speaking slowly, and 
his voice was hollow, “ think well before you tell 
me — you do not know how much there is at 
stake.” 

The man’s manner, and still more his distorted 
face, staggered the lawyer. “ Of course, I may be 
mistaken,” he said ; “ but the examination of the 
witnesses, from which I hoped everything, has proved 
a had business for us, and yet it appears the com- 
missioner tried every conscientious means for 
arriving at ” 

“Conscientious means!” cried Taras; but con- 
quering his rising anger he described the scene 
which had taken place outside the village inn, 
Kapronski not so much as putting up his horses; 
and how the peasants had their own shrewd 
guesses how much had been paid by the mandatar 
to every rascal who had forsworn himself. “ Sir, I 
hope you will help me in this trouble ! ” he said, in 
conclusion. 

These simple words, breathing their own truth 
and sadness, went further with the lawyer than the 
most urgent entreaty. He had followed the legal 
profession for many a year, but the sense of the 
utter sacredness of his calling had perhaps never 
been so strong with him, nor his desire to see 
justice done more earnest, than at this present 
moment when that peasant had told him his tale. 
He promised to forward an appeal to the higher 
court at once. “ There is yet another way we 
could try,” he said; “ you could inform against the 
peijurers. But if we failed in bringing the charge 
home to them, you would be in danger of imprison- 
ment for libel yourself. I do not like to risk that, 
so we had better try the appeal.” 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


97 


“ Do what seems best to you,” said Taras. “I 
trust yon implicitly. But what a world is this if a 
man can be put into prison for making known the 
truth ! Is not truth the foundation of justice ? 
Can the world continue, if falsehood and wrong 
carry the day ? ” 

The lawyer no doubt could have given an answer 
to this question — a sad, painful answer — but some- 
how he felt he had better be silent. He contented 
himself with assuring this man, who seemed a very 
child in the ways of the world, that he would not 
fail in his most faithful endeavour, and set about 
the matter at once, moved by a feeling he scarcely 
could analyse. The appeal was on its way to the 
upper court at Lemberg before Taras and his 
servant had reached their upland home. 

They were nearing the Pruth in the evening of 
the following day when the sound of bells came 
floating towards them, and a red glow appeared 
through the dusk where the ground sloped away in 
the direction of Prinkowce. “ Something on fire ! ” 
cried the man, pulling up the horses. 

Taras peered through the twilight, and, bowing 
his head, he crossed himself piously. “ Drive on,” 
he said; “ it is the torches at the cemetery. They 
are burying the pope.” 

And it was so. Father Martin had died that 
morning, and they were laying him to his rest 
already, as they are wont in the mountains. There 
was no great show of mourning, poor Praxenia’s 
sorrow, perhaps, being the only honest sadness 
evoked. “ Ah ! ” she kept sobbing, “if it were not 
for that sermon, he might be here to conduct his 
own funeral ! It is the sermon he died of, and not 
old age, as the apothecary said.” But the peasants 
had their own idea concerning the cause of his 
death. “It is the wretched schnaps Avrumko has 
5 


98 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


introduced,” they said. “If the rascal gave us 
unwatered stuff, we might live a hundred years, like 
our fathers before us.” 

Slight as the feeling of mourning was, it ye 
sufficed to turn the people’s thoughts into a different 
channel, the loss of the pope thus acting as a 
palliative to the loss of the law-suit ; and the ques- 
tion who should be Father Martin’s successor was 
discussed with real interest. It was not mere 
curiosity which stirred them, for in the person of 
the pope a good deal of a parish’s fate is bound up 
in those parts, and the congregation has no voice in 
the matter. They can but wait and see. But the 
men of Zulawce were soon relieved of any anxiety, 
and had every reason to be satisfied. 

Not a month had passed when the desolate manse 
once more was inhabited, and it was a young pope 
who had come to pitch his pastoral tent in the 
upland parish, having till then been curate-in-charge 
of Borkowka, a village in the plain. Leo Woronczuk 
was his name, and it spoke well for him that his 
late parishioners accompanied him in procession as 
far as the wooden bridge over the Pruth, where 
Taras, at the head of the peasants, stood waiting to 
receive him. But what pleased his new flock more 
than anything was the fact that the stalwart young 
shepherd did not arrive singly, but with a 
blooming wife — the most good-natured of popadjas, 
to all appearance — and three round-cheeked, chubby 
little boys. For the Galician peasants are apt to he 
prejudiced against a pope who is either a bachelor 
or a widower, or, worse still, a monk of the Order of 
St. Basil, thinking it impossible for such a one 
to enter into the every-day joys and sorrows of 
his people, or to understand their more earthly 
needs. 

Now, Father Leo had a heart for these things, and 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


99 


this not only because he himself was blessed with a wife 
and three jolly little boys ! He was no brilliant star 
in the theological heavens, no paragon of super- 
human virtues; he was a simple village priest — a 
man among men — with warm-hearted sympathies ; 
and if his intellectual horizon did not extend im- 
measurably beyond that of his peasants, he at any 
rate had a clear-headed perception of all ordinary 
points and bearings within that sphere. It was not 
without diffidence that he accepted his new charge, 
influenced chiefly by the peremptory need of income, 
his late curacy having been sadly inadequate in this 
respect, considering the growing wants of his 
family ; and, if the truth must be told, the bad 
reputation of that upland parish, which might have 
tempted a priestly soul of more enthusiastic ambi- 
tion, only tended to discourage him ; he, poor 
man, not feeling himself divinely commissioned to 
make up for the many years’ failings of his prede- 
cessor. He would far rather have been called to 
shepherd a people of a less demoralised kind than 
appeared to be the case here, where a number 
of men, on the very face of things, were guilty 
of wilful perjury. But once having accepted the 
charge devolved upon him by his superiors, he 
had made up his mind, like a brave man, to do 
his duty as best he could, be it pleasant or other- 
wise. 

And he made it his first aim to look into the 
apparent want of integrity among the people ; to 
discover, if possible, who might be trusted and who 
not. He set about it quietly, without thrusting 
himself into people’s confidence ; nor did he think 
it necessary to frighten them into a higher state of 
morality by firing their imagination with grievous 
accounts of the punishment to come. His sermons 
were peculiarly simple, suitable in every way to 


100 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


the hearers’ daily life — “ a peasant almost could 
preach like that,” said the people when he had dis- 
missed them without once thumping the pulpit. 
But they discovered by degrees that, if his elo- 
quence did not come down upon them thunderously, 
there was that in his words which might cling to 
them like good and sensible advice ; while, on the 
other hand, he, not a little to his joy, could see that 
these people, after all, were not so black as they had 
been painted. Leaving the one vice out of the ques- 
tion, which in that country is as common as air and 
water — the wretched tendency to drunkenness — 
the worst these highlanders could he accused of 
was their defiant spirit so apt to break out into 
violence. 

The pope soon found that they were not without 
a conscience, and that they had a true feeling of 
right and wrong, though it might he somewhat 
dulled by the unpruned egotistical instincts of 
human nature left to its own luxuriance. Not 
many weeks had passed before Father Leo was 
sure in his own mind which had been the perjured 
party on that fatal day in September, but he 
avoided individual accusation. Nor was it more 
than a moral certainty with him, as though he 
could take his oath that the black cross had not 
always stood in the centre of the contested field. 
But however strongly he felt in his honest mind 
that a vile wrong had been committed — robbing a 
poor, untaught, and easily misguided people not 
only of their property but, what was worse, of 
their good conscience — he yet repressed his wrath, 
and never by word or look showed the mandatai 
how entirely he abhorred him. Nor was this re- 
serve the outcome of mere selfish prudence, but 
rather of a wise perception that he could do more 
for the furthering of right and justice and the peace 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 101 

of his people in thus forcing the miscreant at the 
manor house to observe a show of good will. 

Hajek, indeed, was deceived. He thought he 
had taken the measure of the new pope in believing 
him to be an honest but rather blockheaded parson, 
whom he treated accordingly with a certain amount 
of flattery, and even of deference. The mandatar 
would graciously yield a point whenever Father 
Leo, on behalf of the people, petitioned for a 
respite, or even for the lessening of an irksome 
tribute, assuring him that he was quite as anxious 
as himself to maintain the peace of the parish. 
The fact was, that while the suit yet hung in the 
balance, and a further examining of witnesses was 
a prospect to be dreaded, it was important that 
the village priest should think of him as an 
honourable man, not .prone to harsh dealings, far 
less to open violence, or such a thing as an instiga- 
tion to perjury. 

Thus Taras by degrees found an unexpected ally 
in the pope, nay more, a true-hearted friend. The 
saddened man would not have looked for such 
happiness, and when the unsought gift had come 
to him he met it almost timorously. It was a good 
honest friendship which sprang up between these two 
equally honourable, yet entirely different natures; 
but a friendship which, for all its truth, left the last 
word unspoken, because neither of them, what- 
ever their mutual sympathy, was able to enter into 
the inmost depth of the other’s being. 

But the more the pope saw of the judge, the 
greater was his joy at having met such a man upon 
earth, a man so guileless and spotless, in whom 
selfishness was not, who seemed guided only by his 
own sense of justice and duty, and whose strength 
was the outcome of his great faith in the moral 
equity upholding this structure of a world. “A 


102 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


true, godly man,” the pope would say to himself ; 
but somehow the heretical thought would follow, 
“ Why, this man does not even need the Christian’s 
belief in a future life in order to he what he is.” This 
feeling could not but breed certain doubts, but it did 
not lessen his hearty admiration of his friend’s 
purity of nature, nor his longing to help him. He 
did what he could to ease the heavy burden of his 
dealings with the mandatar, coming forward as a 
mediator whenever it was possible ; and he never 
lost an opportunity of proving to the villagers that 
their judge had acted righteously throughout. Taras 
was Father Leo’s senior, but there was something 
of a parent’s tenderness for his child in the pope’s 
constant readiness to stand by his friend. Indeed, 
Taras would often appear to him in the light of a 
grown boy whom no evil thing had come nigh to 
corrupt. 

“ I could understand him,” the pope would 
say, “if he were fourteen instead of nearly forty.” 
And greater than his delight in the man was his 
surprise sometimes that he should understand so 
little of human nature and the way of the world. 
He took this for granted, but he was mistaken. 
Taras was not wanting in the power of seeing things 
as they are, but only in the capability of turning 
such perception to any use. He was one of those 
rare beings who must ever follow their own inward 
prompting, who cannot be bent in this or that direc- 
tion by any outward compulsion ; but who, for this 
very reason, are so easily broken and bowed to the 
dust. There is much sadness in life, though little 
of real tragedy ; but what of it the world has known 
has ever had for its heroes such natures. 

But neither did Taras fully understand his friend. 
He would have blessed the day which brought 
Father Leo to the village, even if the latter had 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


103 


remained a comparative stranger to him ; for the 
late pope’s unworthy conduct had touched him far 
more deeply than any one else in the village, because 
his instincts for everything good and holy were so 
much keener. He knew well enough that many a 
village pope was no better than Father Martin had 
been ; but he had felt to the depth of his true soul 
that it was a terrible perversion of what ought to be, 
if a village judge out of reverence for the sanctity of 
the oath sees it laid upon him to oppose an exhorta- 
tion of the people by their own priest. It was an 
unspeakable relief to him that things had changed 
in this respect, and that the man who had come to 
represent the spiritual interests in the parish was of 
good report and fit to be an example ; his gratitude 
rising to boundless devotion on perceiving that in 
word and deed the honest pope was bent on sharing 
his burden — yet he could not always understand his 
friend. 

The pope, to give an instance, might endeavour 
to correct some black sheep by saying: “You 
are not a bad man on the whole, it’s just the drink 
which is ruining you ; it were a great thing if you 
could overcome that failing ! ” At which Taras 
would think that this was an untruth, because the 
man was bad in other respects besides the drink ; 
that the pope was quite aware of this, and how could 
it be right to departfrom the full truth, even with a 
good object in view ? Or, if Father Leo endeavoured 
to arbitrate between two quarrelling parishioners, he 
would tell them : “ Blessed are the peacemakers, for 
they shall be called the children of God ! ” endeavour- 
ing to bring about a compromise even if the one, 
whether erroneously or feloniously, had been covet- 
ing the other’s property ; but can it be right, thought 
Taras, to connive even in part at a wrongful inten- 
tion for the love of peace? And if the pope was 


104 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


anxious to obtain some benefit for the people, he 
would not only listen patiently to the richest self-praise 
of the miserable mandatar, but might even enhance it 
by some word of his own ; yet, shall a man fawn on 
an evildoer for the sake of mercy? These questions 
occupied the judge seriously, and one day, when they 
had been at the mandatar’s together, he could not 
but unburden his heart to his friend. 

The pope smiled, saying : “ It is written, Be ye 
therefore wise as serpent s.” 

“ Yes,” cried Taras, “ and harmless as doves ! ” 

“ Certainly,” returned the pope. “ It would be 
wrong to meet any one with the serpent’s wisdom 
in order to overreach him. I never do that, and to 
the best of my knowledge I strive to advance the 
good and to fight what is evil. But since I have to 
do with sinful men and no*t with angels, I must be 
content very often to fight with human weapons.” 

Taras shook his head. “ How could deception 
ever be right in order to further a good cause? ” he 
exclaimed. 

“Nor is it,” returned the pope. “But if I can 
keep back the wicked man from further wickedness 
by speaking civilly to him, and not contemptuously, 
I am not wronging nor deceiving him, but on the 
contrary doing well by him.” 

The judge walked on in silence, saying at last, 
gently but firmly, “I cannot see this; deception 
can never be right. I do not understand you.” 

At which the pope might look up at the towering 
figure by his side, saying tenderly within himself, 
“ He is simple as a child ! ” But what shadows 
even then were overlying Taras’s soul not even Leo 
could know, though a strange fear at times stole 
over him that this soul, so childlike and so pure, 
was undergoing a conflict with the powers of evil, 
and was being worsted. There were outward sings 


THE WRONG VICTORIOUS. 


105 


of such battling : Taras hardly ever now smiled ; he 
would sit for hours in moody silence, with a stony 
look in his eyes, and his healthy countenance was 
being marred by the furrows of anxious care. Anusia, 
too, would come to the manse with her trouble, 
saying sorrowfully, “ He hardly sleeps now, for day 
and night this worry is upon him, making an old 
man of him before his time.” 

“ But what is it ? ” said the pope; “ I am at a 
loss to know.” 

“ Why, what should it be but this cursed lawsuit,” 
sobbed the passionate woman, clenching her fists. 
“ Would I could strangle the mandat ar and all the 
tribe of lawyers along with him ! ” 

The pope rebuked her, nor did her explanation 
satisfy him. “ It cannot be the lawsuit that so 
weighs on him,” he said ; “ for he speaks about it 
calmly, hoping for a favourable verdict from the 
court of appeal. I do not see what can thus oppress 
him, unless it be his troubled relations both with 
the mandatar and with the people, which are im- 
proving daily though, for I am doing my best to 
heal the breach,” he added, with some complacency. 

The honest man had not the faintest idea that, 
however successful he might be, he was only lessen- 
ing his friend’s outward burden, that which lay on 
his shoulders so to speak, and which he had strength 
enough to bear, whereas there was a burden crush- 
ing his heart and leaving him utterly helpless in his 
silent despair; for Taras kept his deep trouble 
hidden even from the eyes of the priest, his spiritual 
guide, feeling, perhaps, that the fundamental 
difference of their natures must keep them apart 
on the soul’s deepest issues. “ I should only sadden 
him,” he said, “ and make him angry; but I could 
never convince him, nor could he talk me out of it. 
No one could, for the matter of that, not the 

5 * 


106 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Almighty Himself, I fear ; for if He can look on 
quietly when wrong is being done here below, I do 
not see that even He could do away with the con- 
sequences ! ” 

Matters had come to an ill pass with Taras 
even then. He had grown calm outwardly, but 
the fearful thought which had overpowered him 
so utterly on his first learning that the court’s 
decision had gone against the parish had not left 
him. If it was not added to in these months of 
weary waiting, while the verdict was being recon- 
sidered, neither did it lessen. And as he went on 
with his duties day after day, waiting for an answer 
from the court of appeal, he was like some traveller 
traversing an endless desert beneath an angry sky. 
The air is heavy, and the thunderous clouds sink 
lower, he hastening onward through the friendless 
waste; onward, though the storm will break and the 
flashes of heaven are charged with death. No 
shelter for him anywhere ; on, on, he hastens, 
though his doom await him — no hope, unless a 
strong wind from the healthy east be sent to drive 
the dark clouds asunder. . . But how should he 

hope for such kindly blast while the hot air is heavy 
about him, and cloud draws cloud athwart the 
heavens? He can but bear up and continue, a 
weary traveller, utterly hopeless, and conscious of 
great trouble ahead 1 


CHAPTER VI. 


APPEALING UNTO C^SAR, 



UTUMN had cotoe ; again the season was cold 


xA_ and gloomy. Taras had waited patiently, 
but he had not the courage to face the long, dull 
twilight of winter if he must pass it nursing the 
one desperate thought. So he went to the pope 
and begged him to indite an inquiry to the 
lawyer. 

Father Leo looked him in the face anxiously. 
The man appeared calm. “ You are thinking too 
much of the law-suit ! ” he said, nevertheless. 

“ Not more than need be,” replied Taras. “ I 
have long settled in my mind all concerning that 
question.” 

The pope wrote the desired letter. The reply 
came at the end of a week. He had done what he 
could, said the lawyer, to urge the case forward, 
praying especially for a re-examination of the 
witnesses ; but he had received no answer so 
far. 

Taras heaved a sigh when the pope had com- 
municated this letter to him. “ It will go hard 
with me in the winter,” he said sadly. 

But the pope could not know the full import of 
these words. “ You have done your duty,” he said, 
“ and that will comfort you.” 

“ There is no comfort in that,” said Taras, 


108 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“though it may help one to be strong. A man who 
has laid his hand on the plough of any duty must go 
on till the work is done.” 

The winter proved hard, indeed, for the waiting 
man, but the heavier the burden weighed on his 
soul the more anxious he seemed to hide it. 

“ He has ceased groaning as he used to do,” 
Anusia said to her friend, the warm-hearted, fat 
little popadja ; “ and he seems to take pleasure in a 
pastime, rather unusual with him ; he has become 
a hunter for hunting’s sake.” 

Taras, in that winter, would be absent for weeks at 
a time, pursuing the bear. But his three com- 
panions, who were devotedly attached to him — 
Hritzko and Giorgi Pomenko, the two sons of his 
friend Simeon, and the young man, Wassilj 
Soklewicz, whose brother had been shot on the con- 
tested field — could tell little of the judge’s cheer. 
“ He is even more silent in the forest than at home,” 
they said ; “ and if he takes any delight in the hunt it 
is only because he is such a good shot. He cares 
nothing for the happy freedom of life up yonder, 
nothing for the excitement of driving the bear ; but 
his face will always light up when he has well- 
lodged his bullet.” 

The winter was not yet over, and Taras was 
again absent hunting, when one day — it was in 
March, 1838 — the pope received a large letter from 
the district town. The lawyer had addressed the de- 
cision of the upper court to him, giving as his reason 
that he had understood from Father Leo’s inquiry 
in the autumn, that he also sympathised with the 
judge, Barabola. “ I pray you, reverend sir,” wrote 
the lawyer, “ to make known to him the enclosed 
verdict as best you can ; for I am afraid the poor 
man will be crushed and not easily lift up his head 
gain. The legal means are exhausted, the lawyer 


Appealing unto cjesar. 109 

can do nothing more ; let the pastor, then, come in 
and heal the wound.” 

The good pope was troubled, his apprehension no- 
wise lessening on hearing how the first verdict had 
overpowered his friend. “ Poor man,” he said ; 
“ poor dear child ! how will he take it ?” 

With not a little trepidation, therefore, he went 
to see Taras upon his return from the mountains, 
endeavouring to prepare him for the had news by a 
rather lengthy and well-considered speech. Taras 
however, behaved otherwise than the pope 
had anticipated. He grew white, and the deep 
furrow between his brows appeared more threaten- 
ing, but his voice was firm as he asked, “ Then the 
upper court has upheld the first verdict ? ” 

“Yes,” said Father Leo, gently. “But you 
must not take it too much to heart, you have tried 
honestly.” 

“ Let me know what they say,” interrupted 
Taras, as calm as before, but it might have been 
noticed that he leant heavily on the table beside 
which he was standing. 

The pope produced the writ, reading and ex- 
plaining. The court dismissed the appeal, seeing 
no reason why the trial should be repeated, it being 
fully evident that the former examination had 
satisfied the demands of justice. The lower court’s 
verdict, therefore, must be upheld. 

Taras had listened to the end with the same rigid 
mien. “ Thank you,” he said, when Father Leo 
had done. “ But now leave me alone. You too, 
Anusia ; I must think it over.” 

“ What use in further troubling? ” demurred the 
pope. “Dr. Starkowski says especially that the 
legal means are exhausted ; which means that there 
is nothing further to be done. You must submit 
to the will of God.” 


iio 


FOR THE RIGHT?. 


“We will come back to that presently/’ said 
Taras, with a ghastly smile, which quite frightened 
the pope. “ You shall not be cheated out of your 
sermon, but not now . . . not now ! ” He repeated 
the words almost passionately. 

Father Leo still hesitated ; but Anusia interfered. 
She had been sitting in a corner, weeping ; but now 
she rose. “ Stay, pope,” she entreated, taking hold 
of Taras’s hand. “ Husband,” she cried, shrilly, 
“ fly into whatever rage you like, thrash the rascal 
at the manor house till he cannot move a limb, if it 
will ease you ; but do not hide your wrath within 
yourself. Do not look so stony ; it kills me, husband. 
I am maddened with fear ! I know why you would 
have us leave you — you are going to lay hands on 
yourself! ” 

“ No ! ” cried Taras, solemnly. “ God knows, I 
have no such thought.” But again the smile played 
about his mouth. “Be at peace, wife,” he added ; 
“ I have never stood in more grievous need of health 
and life than now. Leave me.” 

They saw they must obey, but they remained 
standing outside the closed door, listening anxiously. 
They hoped the terrible tension of his heart might be 
lessened now by the pouring forth of his sorrow, 
but they heard nothing save his measured step. It 
ceased at length, and all was still. 

“ Come ! ” said the poor wife, dragging the pope 
to a small window which gave them a peep into the 
room. They saw Taras, sitting still, resting his 
elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his 
hands. He sat motionless. 

“ We had better leave him to fight it out,” said 
Father Leo, “ his is a strong heart, and he will get 
over it.” 

But Anusia could not conquer her fears. “ I 
must watch him,” she moaned, the hot tears 


APPEALING UNTO CAESAR. 


Ill 


trickling down her face. “ It is more than you think ! 
Why, he is like a child at other times, never hiding 
the thoughts that move him ; and now he cannot 
even speak to me or you ! ” 

The pope endeavoured to comfort her, but it was 
ill trying when he was anxious enough himself. 
He left her presently to visit a sick parishioner who 
was waiting for him, returning in about an hour. 

Anusia had not stirred from the little window. 
“He only moved once,” she whispered, hoarsely, 
“ and it was awful to behold. I watched him, 
hardly daring to breathe, and saw him rise slowly 
and lift the fingers of his right hand to heaven. 
His face was stony, never a muscle he moved, but 
his eyes could not hold back the tears, and they ran 
heavily down his death-like cheeks — ah, Father 
Leo, it must have been an awful oath he swore to 
himself — and now he sits rigid as before, staring 
hopelessly.” 

“ That won’t do,” murmured the pope, opening 
the door rather noisily and entering. He was 
resolved not to leave the room again, even if Taras 
should dismiss him peremptorily. But there was 
no fear of that. 

The judge rose, and met him quietly, almost 
serenely. “ You are right, Father Leo,” he said, 
“ it is no use to keep on troubling ! I have well- 
nigh worn out my brains, and am not a bit further 
than before ! . . . . There is just one thing though 
I want to know : you told me the lawyer had written 
that all the legal means were now exhausted — are 
you sure ? are these his very words ? ” 

“ Yes ; it is quite plain.” 

“ But I am not certain. For I remember that 
our own judge, at Bidowa, when I was a boy, had a 
protracted law-suit with a cousin of his about some 
will that was questioned. The district court 


112 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


decided in his favour ; but the cousin appealed, 
and the court at Lemberg was on his side. The 
judge thereupon took the case to a supreme court 
at Vienna, and there he obtained his right. So 
yon see there must be judges at Vienna, who are 
over the court at Lemberg.’ * 

“ Taras,” cried Anusia, “ surely you are not 
thinking of going to law at Vienna? Whoever 
could pay the costs ? ” 

“ Wife,” he said solemnly, “ if you knew what is 
at stake, you would ask me on your knees to plead 
the cause at Vienna if we were beggars ever 
after. However, I must first find out about it. 
Not that I doubt Dr. Starkowski, for he is honest, 
and will have written nothing but the truth ; but I 
must have it from his own lips.” 

He was not able to set out for Colomea on the 
spot, having to arrange with the mandat ar first 
concerning the spring labour due by the peasantry. 
And matters were not so easily settled as in the 
autumn, for Mr. Hajek was relieved of his fears as to 
a possible re-examination of witnesses, and showed 
his true colours. He would no longer heed Father 
Leo’s suggestions, but set him aside as a meddling 
priest who had better not poke into mundane con- 
cerns. It was, therefore, not without much yielding 
to unfair demands that Taras could come to an 
understanding with the rapacious steward, after 
which he was free to depart on his journey, carrying 
with him in a leather belt all the ready money in 
his possession — the silver thalers and golden ducats 
he had inherited of old Iwan, or gained by his own 
industry. 

On his entering the lawyer’s office, the enlightened 
Stupka no longer took alarm ; but all the more 
frightened was the kind-hearted attorney himself. 

“ Why, man ! ” he cried, aghast, “ you look ten 


APPEALING UNTO OZBSAB. 


113 


years older than when last I saw you. Is it the 
lawsuit which so worries you ? You must not give 
way like that. Eemember that you have a wife and 
children, and not only a parish, to live for.” 

“ It was an evil year,” said Taras; “but I have 
not come to make complaints to you, sir, but only 
to settle two points. Firstly, what is it I owe you? ” 

The lawyer brought down his ledger and named 
the sum — close upon two hundred and fifty florins. 
“ We have to bear the costs, you see,” he said in 
excuse. 

“ Never mind,” said Taras, undoing his belt and 
counting out the money. “ Now for the second 
point. You have written to our Father Leo that 
nothing more can be done. But are there not 
higher judges at Vienna ? ” 

“Not for this matter,” returned Starkowski ; 
“ there certainly is a high court of justice at Vienna, 
but cases can only be taken thither when the district 
court and the provincial court of appeal have differed 
in their verdicts ! ” 

“ That is bad,” said Taras. “ But you spoke to 
me of another way last year — a prosecution for 
perjury.” 

“ Yes, but I did not advise it, and would not 
advise it now,” cried the lawyer, eagerly. “ Can 
you not see that none of these witnesses will own 
to being perjured, and you will hardly succeed in 
bringing the crime home to them — for where is your 
evidence? And even if you had evidence, in the 
case of some who may have betrayed themselves by 
their own foolish talk, and could get them con- 
victed, you will hardly escape going to prison with 
them. For those whom you failed to convict would 
be all the more spiteful, and would have you up for 
libel. And for what good in the end? — the field 
would remain Count Borecki’s after all ! ” 


114 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ It is not that I am thinking of now,” replied 
Taras. “ I do not seek restitution, but simply the 
right.” It was evident that he strove hard to speak 
calmly. But when he opened his mouth again the 
words fell stammeringly from his lips : “ You tell 
me, then — there is — no help left — none ? ” 

“ None whatever,” said the lawyer, “ unless the 
Emperor ” 

“ The Emperor ! ” interrupted the peasant, almost 
with a shriek. And exultation broke from his eyes ; 
he stood erect, transformed in every feature as by 
magic. So sudden was the change, from dire 
despair to uplifting hope, that he staggered and 
reeled as under a blow. “ The Emperor ! ” he re- 
peated, exultingly. 

“ Well, yes — but in fact — you see, the Emperor 
” said the lawyer, taken aback. 

But Taras paid no attention. “ Oh, sir,” he cried, 
and was not ashamed of the tears that flowed down 
his face, “ what a fool I have been ! People looking 
to me, and calling me their judge, and I never 
thinking of this ! And how I racked my poor brain, 
and suffered, and strove with the awful future, and 
all for nothing ! Why, of course, there is the 
Emperor ; but I only thought of him while there 
was happiness; and when trouble came and the 
clouds hid the light of heaven, I forgot that the sun 
is behind them. I was even angry not to see it 
shining, and was wroth with the Emperor, because 
the men of the law, who are but his servants, could 
not help me ! But I know better now. I know the 
Emperor will make it all right, let him but hear of 
it — why, it is his very duty, laid upon him by God 
himself ! His servants may go wrong, but he will 
see the truth; they may judge ill, but he will be 
righteous, being above them all. ... Ah, sir, 
forgive my being thus beside myself and weeping 


APPEALING UNTO CAESAR. 


115 


like a child ! But if you knew what thoughts went 
through me but a moment ago, when you told me 
there was no further help ! . . . But, thank God, 
you have remembered the Emperor, while yet it 
was time — while yet it was time ! For even a week 
hence, if I had gone away in my hopelessness, it 
might have been too late ! ” 

“ Too late ! ” repeated the lawyer, astonished. 
“ What do you mean ? ” 

“Ah! do not ask me, sir,” cried Taras, brushing 
the tears from his face. “ I would rather forget all 
about it ; it was a nightmare, an evil dream. How 
foolish of me ! The very darkest plans I could 
think of, but never of this simple help, as simple as 
prayer itself. For who are our helpers in this life 
but God and the Emperor? God paramount and 
hearing our cry, but not reaching down with His 
own arm from heaven in every instance, because He 
has appointed the crowmed one in His stead, who is 
to judge men and rule them in His name. But the 
Emperor is not omniscient, like God. One must go 
to him and tell him one’s trouble, which I shall do 
now. And for his understanding me the better, 
I will ask you, sir, to put it into writing, that he 
may have it all down on paper what I have to tell 
him.” 

Thus sobbed and talked the peasant, running on, 
positively beside himself, as though heaven had 
opened with a great vision of help ; and, fall of 
gratitude, he seized the lawyer’s hand, bowing low 
to kiss it. But Starkowski drew back hastily, step- 
ping to the window. He was startled, and almost 
dismayed. His mentioning the Emperor had been 
rather accidental, and he could never have dreamt 
of thus rousing the man. He felt morally certain 
that it would be quite useless to petition the Empe- 
ror, not that he doubted that the peasants really 


116 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


had been wronged in the suit. But how was the 
Emperor to see this, in the face of two verdicts ? 
Every groat the judge would spend on that errand, 
every effort and particle of time, would he just 
thrown away. “ It must not be,” he said to him- 
self. “ I must get him to see it.” But then the 
thought would rise whether it were not a wicked 
thing to destroy the poor man’s hope — his last 
hope, to which he clung so pitifully. He remem- 
bered the words Taras had spoken a year ago, and 
these were strange hints which had fallen from his 
lips just now. Yet the lawyer had not an idea what 
awful resolve had ripened in the despairing soul of 
this man ; he only perceived that he would leave no 
means untried, no violence even, to get back the 
field the parish had been robbed of — and this was bad 
enough to be prevented, if possible. 

He believed he saw a way out of the difficulty. 
“Well, then, Taras,” he said, “we will try the 
Emperor. I will draw up a memorial for you, and 
we can send it to Vienna. You, meanwhile, go 
quietly back to your people. There is no need to 
leave your family and your farm and your public 
duties on that account. The Emperor will see 
what it is all about from the document ; there is no 
need to plead in person.” At any rate, we shall 
thus gain time, the good man was hoping ; he will 
calm down meanwhile, and will be able to bear his 
disappointment when it does come, perhaps a year 
hence. 

But in laying this pretty plan, he had not con- 
sidered the man he had to do with. 

“No,” replied Taras, with his own inflexible 
firmness. “ I will gladly take your advice, but 
not on this point. My wdiole future is at stake, 
and the welfare of my wife and children. How 
could 1 trust to a happy chance ? I shall go to 


APPEALING UNTO C^SAE. 117 

Vienna myself, to see the Emperor and present the 
petition.” 

“ Do stop to consider ! ” urged the lawyer. “ And 
what chance is it you are talking of? I shall for- 
ward the memorial by post safely, and shall get 
it presented by a trustworthy man — a friend of 
mine ” 

“ Why, this is a whole string of chances,” inter- 
rupted Taras. “ The letter may be lost, or tam- 
pered with — one has heard of postbags being robbed. 
And your friend may fall ill, or die, before he can 
do what you request. But even if he were able 
to do it, and had the best of intentions, how should 
he speak for me, as I would myself? He would 
say a pleasant word, perhaps, thinking of you, his 
friend, or because he is in the presence of the 
Emperor; but he cannot possibly be anxious about 
my case. I must speak for myself ! ” 

“ But how should the Emperor understand you, 
not knowing a word of the Buthenese ? ” inquired 
the lawyer, a little exasperated. 

“ Now, that can never be true ! ” cried Taras. 
“ That is, I beg your pardon, some one must have 
told you a tale. It stands to reason that the 
Emperor can speak our language. Is he not the 
father of all his subjects, and are not we of them? 
And you would have me believe a father will not 
understand his children? No, no; that can never 
be ! It is settled, then, that I shall go to Vienna, 
and I beg you to write out the petition for me ; I 
will call for it this day week. I shall hardly get 
away before that, for I must set things in order 
before I leave.” 

There was no dissuading him. He returned 
to Zulawce, and neither his wife’s entreaties nor 
the pope’s remonstrance made the slightest impres- 
sion on him. They both felt grateful on perceiving 


118 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


that a change had taken place in him ; but both 
were equally set against his intention, though for 
different reasons. Anusia, for her part, did not 
doubt the likelihood of the Emperor’s effective 
interference ; but a journey to the far-off capital 
appeared to her as dangerous and venturesome as 
an expedition to the moon. 

“Who can tell what might not happen on the 
road?” she said to the popadja, into whose sym- 
pathetic ear she poured her fears. “ He may fall 
among thieves ; or he may starve in some wilder- 
ness ; or sorcerers may catch him with their wicked 
spells, and I shall never see him again. And even 
if he were likely to get through all these, dangers, 
how is a man to find his way on such a journey and 
not be lost ? ” 

Father Leo’s apprehensions were not quite so 
desperate, although even he considered the journey 
a venture ; but his chief fear was this — that it 
would be useless. 

“ The Emperor cannot possibly come back with 
you in person,” he argued with his friend ; “ and 
how is he to know, without personal inspection, 
where the black cross stood these years ago ? He 
can only inquire of the local authorities, our friends 
at Colomea; and how should they tell him any- 
thing different from what they have already de- 
cided? They must stick to the verdict to escape 
censure, if for no other reason.” 

But Taras had an answer to every objection. To 
his wife he said, “It is not the sorcerers you fear, 
but the sorceresses.” And to Father Leo he said, 
“ You know most things better than we do, no 
doubt ; but even you have had no experience with 
emperors.” It was plain he was bent on going. 

The following Sunday he called a meeting of 
the men. “ My own farm,” he said, “ I have en- 


APPEALING UNTO CiESAR. 


119 


trusted to the care of my friend Simeon. He has 
offered to act as my representative also in parish 
affairs. But I cannot accept that ; the parish must 
not be without a judge for so many weeks, perhaps 
months. I therefore resign my office, but I advise 
you to choose him in my place.” 

His friends opposed him, none more eagerly than 
Simeon himself. But Taras was not to be moved, 
and since his enemies failed not to second him, the 
resolution was carried, Simeon being chosen by a 
majority of votes. He accepted the office, declaring 
that he would hold it until his friend returned. 

A few days later Taras again stood in Starkowski’s 
chambers. The lawyer gave him the memorial to 
the Emperor, and a private letter addressed to a 
friend of his. “ Go by this man’s advice in every- 
thing,” he said ; “ he is a man of high standing at 
Vienna, and will counsel you well, being himself of 
this country.” 

“ Very well,” said Taras ; “ I will do as you 
wish me ; otherwise I should have gone straight to 
the Emperor’s. No doubt every child at Vienna 
could show me his house.” 

“ But you don’t expect the children at Vienna to 
understand your Ruthenese ! ” cried the lawyer ; 
adding, with a sigh, “ God knows what will become 
of you ! ” 

“ I have no fear,” said Taras, solemnly. “ How 
should a man fail to gain his end who tries to do 
what is right ? ” 


CHAPTEE VII. 


PUT NOT YOUE TEUST IN PEINCES. 

T HIS had happened early in April. Taras had 
taken leave of his wife with the promise of 
letting her hear as often as possible, and he kept his 
word faithfully during the first stages of his absence. 
As early as the third week a letter arrived, dated 
from Lemberg, and written for Taras by a fellow- 
villager, a certain Constantine Turenko, who, as a 
soldier, had had the rare luck, in the estimation of 
the Zulawce folk, of rising to the dignity of a cor- 
poral. “ Since my friend Taras is unable to send 
you a letter of his own contriving,” this military 
genius wrote, “ and since I am as clever at it as the 
colonel of the regiment himself, I send you word 
that he hopes you are well, as this leaves him at 
present. I have shown him all over the place ; he 
never saw such a town in his life. You had better 
tell my people and Kasia, who used to be sweet on 
me, that they may expect me home in the summer 
on furlough. 1 shall bring my regimentals — won’t 
they just be proud of me ! Everybody says I am a 
fine soldier.” Poor Anusia was thankful for even 
that much of news of her husband. In May another 
letter arrived from Cracow, indited by a musical 
hero of some church choir, also stating that Taras 
was well, hut adding he was running short of 
money, and that he desired a remittance under his, 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 


121 


the singer’s, address. Father Leo, however, knew 
better than to carry out this injunction. It was the 
last news of the absent traveller which reached the 
village. 

They waited, but the summer came and not a 
word of Taras. “ It is a long day’s journey to 
Vienna;,” the pope would say to Anusia, “and he 
might not easily come across a man there who 
understands the Euthenese, and is not too grand 
to write a letter for him, so we must not be 
anxious.” 

But when even the harvest was over without bring- 
ing a sign of life, Father Leo himself grew uneasy, 
and was less confident in calming Anusia. And the 
poor thing, besides her waking fears, was harassed 
by nightly dreams of the most vivid apprehension, 
the least appalling of her visions being those in 
which she beheld her Taras captivated by some 
pretty Hungarian, but alive at least ; but more often 
she would see him dragging along the weary roads 
utterly starving, and sometimes her dreams showed 
him dead in a ditch. With these tales of woe she 
came to the manse almost daily, and Father Leo did 
his best to console her. The pretty Hungarian he 
found it easiest to dispose of, assuring the distracted 
wife that Taras’s way did not lead him through 
Hungary at all ; and, as for the starving, he believed 
it unlikely, considering the two hundred florins the 
traveller had taken with him, but death certainly 
was a contingency against which no hapless mortal 
was proof. And when this latter vision mournfully 
overbore the previous ones, the poor woman lost all 
her youthful energy, fading away with her grief, and 
Father Leo, for very pity of her, wrote to Hr. 
Starkowski, imploring him to procure some news. 
The good-natured man readily promised to make 
inquiries at Vienna, but week after week passed and 
6 


122 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


nothing was heard, nor did the lost one himself 
return. 

It was autumn, the first frost was felt, and it was 
Saint Simon and Saint Jude’s. Everywhere within 
sight of the stern mountains the people look upon 
this day as the herald of winter ; the women see to 
their larders, and the men assemble to fix each house- 
hold’s share of firewood from the common forest. 
This being, done, Simeon, the new judge, had gone 
to the manse to arrange with Father Leo concern- 
ing the pope’s due. That was soon settled, but the 
two men continued in mournful conversation, and 
Father Leo scarcely had the heart to dissent 
from the judge’s doleful remark that the miserable 
field had cost the village not only one of its stalwart 
youths, but another and more precious life as well, 
inasmuch as it seemed beyond a doubt that poor 
Taras had perished. Sympathy with his fate thus 
kept them talking, the dusk of evening descend- 
ing with its own stillness, broken at times by the 
wailings of Anusia, who once again had come with 
her troubles to the kind-hearted popadja. 

There was a knock at the outer door, and almost 
simultaneously they heard the poor wife’s shriek — 
“ Taras ! ” They flew from the room. 

It was a mystery how Anusia had recognised her 
husband without seeing him or hearing his voice, or 
even his footfall; but it was himself. “Are you 
quite well ? ” he cried, as he caught her to his 
heart. “ I have seen the children already ! ” 

The friends fell back reverently to leave the 
husband and wife to each other ; but then they also 
pressed round him to shake hands joyfully, and the 
popadja hastened to light her lamp. But when 
Taras entered the lighted apartment a heartrending 
shriek broke from Anusia, and the friends also stood 
horrified. Poor Taras looked sadly worn — old and 


PUT NOT TOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 123 

grey, and life’s hope, as it were, crushed out of him. 
His powerful frame was emaciated ; the sunny hair 
showed colourless streaks ; the furrow between the 
brows had grown deeper still, and the eyes looked 
hollow in the haggard face. 

“You bring ill news, brother!” cried Simeon, 
aghast. 

“ 111 news ! ” repeated Taras. He endeavoured 
to smile, but failed sadly ; and when the tears 
sprang to every eye about him, he, too, sat down 
and let his own trouble flow unhindered. 

“ My poor, dear darling ! ” sobbed Anusia, cover- 
ing his head with her kisses and her tears — “ come 
back to us a grey-haired man ! ” 

But her grief helped Taras to recover himself, 
and now he did smile. He drew down his wife 
beside him, stroking her own brown hair gently. 
“ Is not that like a woman,” he said, striving to 
appear light-hearted, “to make a fuss because the 
man she wedded must turn grey in his time ! The 
glory of youth is treacherous, my dear! . . . 

But tell me about yourselves now, and about the 
village.” 

“ Tell us about ?/owrself,” they cried. “ We have 
died with anxiety these months past. Where have 
you been all this time? ” 

“ It was not possible to come back sooner,” said 
he. “ It is a long journey to Vienna, and I had to 
wait many a day before I could see him ” 

“ The Emperor ! Did you actually speak to 
him ? ” 

“ Well — yes — after a fashion ! They call it having 
an audience,” said he, with a strangely gloomy 
smile. “ And I would not come away without an 
answer. . .” 

“Have you got it then? The Emperor’s own 
answer ?’’ 


124 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ No ; but I know what it is going to be. . . 

However, let us wait and see. I want to know how 
you have been getting on — and what about friend 
Hajek? ” 

“ He is not over-anxious to show himself,” said 
Simeon, making haste to add : “I am sure you 
will see that your farm meanwhile has done w r ell. 
Your live stock is in the best condition, and the 
harvest was most plentiful. Your granaries are 
well filled, and I have eighty florins to give you for 
corn sold, and thirty for oats. But do tell us ; did 
not the Emperor promise to see to the matter ? ” 

“ Promise ! ” said Taras bitterly, “ to be sure he 
did ! . . . But excuse me,” he added, turning to the 
popadja, “ I am quite faint with hunger. I was so 
anxious to reach home, that I put up nowhere to- 
day.” 

The little woman blushed, and ran to produce an 
enormous ham, with no end of excuses for her negli- 
gence ; and, trotting to and fro, she set on the table 
whatever of hidden treasures her larder contained. 
But her hospitable intent was ill-requited ; Taras 
swallowed a few mouthfuls, drank a glass of the 
pope’s Moldavian, and then pushed from him the 
plate which the kind hostess had filled for him in 
her zeal. 

“ Why, you have not eaten enough for a sparrow,” 
expostulated the popadja. “ Do eat, judge — ” correct- 
ing herself — “Taras!” But, again blushing, she 
added: “Why should I not call you ‘judge,’ for I 
daresay you will resume office pretty soon.” 

“ No ! ” he said sharply. “ I shall not, and never 
will ” 

“Of course you will,” interrupted Simeon, 
eagerly. “You know I only accepted during your 
absence. I could never be to the village what you 
have been, and no one else could ! ” 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 125 

“ I shall not / ” repeated Taras solemnly, lifting 
his right hand ; “ God knows I cannot ! ” 

They looked at him surprised ; there was some- 
thing in his tone which startled his friends. But 
Anusia cried joyfully: “I am glad of it, husband. 
We will live for ourselves now, and be happy again. 
You must make haste to get hack your own bright 
looks. You shall go hunting this winter as often as 
you like, it will do you good ! ” 

" Yes,” he said; “ it will be well,” adding, after a 
while, “ and most necessary — most necessary ! ” 
“How so?” inquired the pope; “there cannot 
be many hears this winter, considering how you 
hunted them down last season.” 

Taras had opened his lips, but closed them again 
sharply, as though he must keep in the word that 
might have escaped him. And there was one of 
those sudden pauses of silence, burdened with un- 
spoken thought. 

The popadja broke it. “ Now tell us all about the 
journey,” she said. “ I am sure we are all curious 
as to your adventures. Tell us about the Emperor — 
does he really live in a house made of gold? ” 

“I am afraid I shall have to disappoint you,” 
replied Taras, with a smile. “ His house is of brick 
and stone, and he himself a poor, sickly creature. 
And, indeed, I had no very wonderful adventures — I 
did not even fall in with a single sorceress, Anusia, 
but that may have been because I did not look for 
any, having eyes and ears for nothing beyond the 
one aim of my journey. I had no peace or rest any- 
where, and would have liked to take post-horses, but 
could not afford it. So I looked out for coaches and 
waggons going that way, and took to my own feet 
when opportunity was wanting. It is slow travelling, 
either way, but I fell in with other travellers, who 
told me their troubles, as I told them mine. It is 


126 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


passing strange : the earth seems fair enough, but I 
have not met a single being who told me he was 
happy. Men seem to carry their burden everywhere, 
some more of it, some less, hut there is none without 
sorrow ; one finds that out if one goes a-tra veiling, 
folks talking to you as to a brother. And I must 
say, most of those I fell in with approved of my 
journey, one man only endeavouring to dissuade me. 
I had better go home again, he said. He was a 
Jewish wine trader from Czernowitz, who gave me a 
lift as far as Lemberg. He was most friendly, and 
would not hear of my paying him ; he listened to my 
story, full of sympathy, hut he thought going to 
Vienna was quite useless. ‘ There might be some 
hope,’ he said, ‘ if these were the days of the good 
Emperor Joseph.’ I, however, was not to be 
frightened from my purpose. ‘ It is not as though 
I wanted to petition for a favour,’ I said ; ‘ if I did 
I could understand that much depended on the kind 
of emperor we have. But I am nor going to plead 
for anything save our right, and that he surely will 
grant, because it is his duty. A man must see his 
own duty, be he emperor or peasant.’ He was 
silent after that, and we reached Lemberg.” 

“ There, anyhow, you fell in with a happy in- 
dividual,” said the pope, interrupting him. “ You 
met Constantine Turenko ! I, at least, never knew 
a man to equal him in self-satisfaction.” 

Taras could not help laughing. “ And yet he was 
not quite happy,” he said, “ since I found him sorely 
distressed for money. I had to lend him a florin. 
Is he here? ” 

“ To be sure ! ” cried Anusia ; “ what a braggart he 
is ! Why, he assured me how handsomely he stood 
treat for you at all the best inns of Lemberg. Of 
course I did not believe him, hut the villagers some- 
how take his every word for gospel truth. He is 


put not your trust in princes. 127 


quite a hero here, basking in his own glory. You 
should hear him — ‘ I, a corporal of the Imperial 
army ! Bassama ! * ” — she endeavoured to imitate 
the man. “ He is a braggart ! ” 

“ Yes, his tongue wagged plentifully in my hear- 
ing also,” said Taras, “ especially after he had 
borrowed my florin ! But I was glad, nevertheless, 
to come across him. It was the first large town I 
had seen, and I felt lost. You have no i£ea of such 
a town, and yet Lemberg is nothing compared to 
"V ienna ! He would have liked to detain me ; but 
having rested a day, I proceeded towards Cracow. 
It was cheerless travelling now, for I could not 
understand the people any longer — at least not 
freely ; the folk there have a queer way of talking, 
a kind of lisping it seemed to me, which does not 
come from the heart at all. I was silent and grew 
sad, feeling doubly pleased, therefore, in coming 
across a fellow-countryman, a ‘diak’* from some- 
where near Czortkow, who had run away from his 
wife because she boxed his ears rather too freely. 
That is what he told me. He was a mite of a 
fellow, and informed me he would like to seek 
his fortune in Bussia, if only he could get a little 
money ; hut I found presently he was telling me 
stories, and would do no more than frank him as far 
as Cracow. That city is not Austrian at all, the 
Poles there having a little free state of their own. 
It was a marvel to me how a number of men could 
live together owning no emperor as the head of all 

justice ; but I have come to see now ” He 

interrupted himself, again pressing together his lips 
to keep in the word he would have spoken, and 
continuing after a pause : — “ I was going to say, it 
is sad to be in a strange country ; and hungering for 
a companion I could understand, I took the little 
* One of a church choir. 


128 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


story-teller with me as far as Cracow where 1 dis- 
missed him.” 

“How clever of you to see through him,” cried 
Anusia, proud of her husband’s penetration. And 
she told him of the man’s letter. 

“ The little rascal ! ” said Taras. “ But, indeed, 
my two hundred florins were not such a fortune as 
you would have believed. Things grew enormously 
expensive, and there was other trouble besides, j 
was thankffll at seeing again the black and yellow 
posts by the road — the Austrian colours. It was a 
poor enough country, on the Polish frontier ; but if 
the people there were to work their hands as they 
work their talkative jaws, I have no doubt it might 
be better. I got to richer districts presently ; but 
matters did not therefore improve. I was among 
the Moravians now, and to hear them speak sounded 
like a continuous quarrelling, till I perceived that 
their language still had some words like our own, 
especially such as bread, meat, and wine, things 
referring to eating, and the figures also — which was 
well. It was when I came among the Germans that 
my heart failed me. A fine people, no doubt, with 
villages more flourishing than our towns, and fields 
and farms to rejoice a man’s soul; but what a 
language ! Understanding was hopeless. I was 
driven to signs, moving my jaws when I was 
hungry and lapping with my tongue when I wanted 
to drink. But when I would have liked bread they 
brought me salad, and when I longed for a glass of 
water they offered me wine. However, I bore it all, 
anxious only to get along. Towards the end of 
my journey I fell in with a good-natured waggoner, 
who was carrying woollen cloths to Vienna, and he 
gave me a seat. He was a most kindly old man, to 
judge from his pleasant face ; and I think he took a 
fancy to me, for he kept smiling and nodding as he 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 129 

walked by the side of his horses, I nodding back to 
him from my seat between the bales. By and by 
he climbed up beside me ; but then we thought it a 
poor business to be nodding only, and began to talk, 
he in his language and I in mine, exchanging some 
of our tobacco between whiles in token of mutual 
regard. I wished sorely I could understand what he 
was saying. It seems hard that God should have 
made men with different tongues, to add to their 
troubles, when their life on earth is sad enough 
without it ! ” 

“ Why, it is the Tower of Babel which brought it 
on, don’t you know?” broke in the popadja, blush- 
ing violently at her presumption. 

Taras continued : “I was taken along by this 
good man for two days — slow travelling, for the 
waggon was heavily loaded. On the third morning 
he resumed his smiling and nodding more vigorously 
than ever, pointing with his whip in front of him , 
and saying, ‘ Vienna, Vienna ! ’ I understood, of 
course, and my heart leapt within me ! but I could 
see nothing as yet except a thick grey haze in the 
distance, and behind it a ridge of clouds, with domes 
and peaks sharply defined. I thought it strange, for 
the air was clear and cool, there having been a 
thunder-storm in the niglit. But as we went on, 
hour after hour, and the cloudy picture continue!) 
unaltered, I perceived my error. It was not clouds, 
but a range of mountains on the horizon. And that 
haze, as I discovered by and by, was nothing but 
the dust and vapour for ever rising heavenward 
from a gigantic city, like the hot breath of a 
monstrous dragon.” 

The women gasped and crossed themselves. 

“ The waggoner hurried on his horses a bit, and 
kept repeating 4 Vienna ! Vienna ! ’ getting me to 
understand by all sorts of dumb show that he had 

6 * 


130 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


bis wife and children there — happy man ! I thought 
of you all, and my heart sank within me at the sight 
of the great city where no one would understand 
me. But I repressed these feelings and began to 
look about. We were crossing a splendid stone 
bridge, long and wide, beneath which the river was 
rolling its yellow waves — that was the Danube. 
Beyond the bridge rose the first houses. They were 
cheerful to look at, not larger than what we can see 
at Colomea, with pleasant gardens round about ; but 
I knew we were in the suburbs only. ‘ I shall soon 
see the real town,’ I thought, ‘ with the market place : 
and on it, I daresay, the Emperor’s house.’ But 
minutes passed, and an hour had gone, and we were 
still driving along an interminable street with little 
gardens on either side, one like the other, though 
getting fewer, I observed, as we proceeded, while 
the number of human beings and of vehicles in- 
creased steadily. It was a crowd as at Lemberg on 
market days, and there was a roar in the distance 
which rather puzzled me, growing louder and louder 
as we advanced. There were no more gardens now, 
and the houses were larger, some towering three, 
even four storeys high, with windows innumerable. 
I was utterly bewildered to think of all the human 
beings that must dwell there ; and the street ap- 
peared endless, men and women jostling each other 
between the vehicles. And I saw that other streets 
opened out of this main thoroughfare, with horses 
and men and conveyances past counting. I clutched 
the hales between which I was sitting, utterly over- 
powered with the sight. . . .” 

“ Ah,” said Anusia, sympathetically. 

“That street must be miles long; but we were 
through it at last, and there the city seemed at an 
end, and, not a little surprised, I saw large tracts of 
grass all around. At some distance I beheld a 


NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. j.3l 

rampart, and behind it another city of houses, 
shining steeples, and a gigantic cupola. The crowd 
about us increased astonishingly, heaving in and 
out of the gates. It was a riddle to me, for had we 
not been driving through the city all along? I 
looked at my companion and he pointed ahead, 
saying ‘ Vienna ! * ‘ Dear me,’ I thought, ‘ then I have 
only come through a suburb as yet ; what, then, will 
the town be like ? * By that rampart they levy 
custom, and even victuals are taxed ! I could not 
think what those green-coats were after in diving 
into my wallet, but they found only a loaf of 
bread and a piece of cheese, which they put back, 
laughing. 

“ I felt more and more bewildered, and do not 
know how to describe to you my sensation on enter- 
ing that city ; it was like venturing into a bee-hive. 
Yet this will scarcely give you an idea. Imagine 
how it would be if all the needles in the fir-wood up 
yonder were suddenly changed into human beings, 
whirling about madly like flakes in a snowstorm ! 
Fancy if all the trees and shrubs were towering 
houses, closely packed, so that a ray of sunlight 
could scarcely get through ! or how it would be if a 
thunder-storm were 6xed for ever in the heavens 
above us, the booming commotion never ceasing, 
day and night ! . . . But I am a fool for trying 

to show you by word of mouth what Vienna is like ; 
how should you conceive it who have never been 
there ! And I cannot tell you how utterly forlorn I 
felt. It must have been written on my face, for the 
honest waggoner took hold of my hand, asking me 
a question. From his kindly look I seemed to 
understand that he inquired whether I felt ill, so 
I shook my head and smiled. But evidently this 
was not the answer he wanted ; he kept repeating 
his question, and pointed to the houses, and at last 


132 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


he rested his head on my shoulder, closing his eyes 
and drawing his breath slowly. Then I perceived 
that he wanted to find out where I intended to put 
up for the night. The thought had actually escaped 
me in my great bewilderment. Before I knew what 
Vienna was, I had believed the matter to be quite 
simple, intending to look for that Mr. Broza, Dr. 
Starkowski’s friend, to whom I had an introduction, 
and no doubt he would take charge of me. But 
somehow I understood now that I could not well be 
carried all over the city in a great waggon full of 
hales ; and as for setting out to seek the gentleman 
on foot by myself, I did not think that I should ever 
have the courage. So I shrugged my shoulders, 
making eyes of entreaty at my companion. He 
appeared to understand that I was friendless, and, 
having recourse to a dumb show of working his jaws, 
he brought home the question to me whether I de- 
sired to he taken to an eating-house. I assented, 
and, turning from the main thoroughfare, he drove 
up some quieter streets, stopping at last before an un- 
pretentious building, which had a signboard, and on it 
a tree with bright green leaves. He cracked his whip, 
and a man appeared — a servant by the look of him, 
to whom my good friend explained my need. The 
man grinned, and, turning to me, inquired in Polish 
whether I wished for a room. Now, as for the 
Poles, no one could love them or their language 
either, but I could have cried for joy on hearing the 
man, although he spoke but brokenly. He had 
been to Galicia as a soldier, being himself a Czech.” 

“A fellow-countryman of our respected manda- 
tar ! ” cried Simeon. 

“ Yes ; but with this difference, that Frantisek 
proved himself to be honest. And when I had ex- 
plained to him who I was and why I had come to 
Vienna, he assisted me as much as he could, his first 


£0T NOT tOtJR TRUST IN PRINCES. 133 

good office consisting in this, that he prevailed with 
his master to board and lodge me for a florin daily. 
Why, Anusia, there is no occasion to make such 
eyes, for it was cheap, considering I was in Vienna. 
And he offered to show me the way to Mr. Broza’s 
the following morning. ‘ It is too late to-day,’ he 
said, having looked at the letter, * for the gentleman, 
I see, lives in the city, and that is a long way off.’ 
‘ In the city ! ’ I cried, aghast ; ‘ why, what is this ? ’ 
‘This is Leopoldstadt, one of the suburbs,’ he ex- 
plained, calmly; and then I learned that the place 
with the interminable street we had passed before 
was Floridsdorf. Would you believe it, there are six 
such places forming the outer precincts of Vienna, 
and nine regular suburbs— that is fifteen cities en- 
closing a city ! And their inhabitants are almost 
beyond counting — as many, they told me, as in all 
the Bukowina and Pokutia together.” 

“ That, no doubt, was a story,” interposed Simeon, 
who was not going to he taken in. But the pope 
confirmed the remarkable tale. “ I have read it in 
books,” he said. 

“Well, I leave you to conjecture what the real 
town was like to which Frantisek took me the 
following morning. It is worse there at all times 
than on a market day at Colomea or the most 
crowded fair ; and what seemed to me most horrible, 
men and beasts — I mean vehicles — go jostling one 
another in a gloomy twilight, for the streets are so 
narrow and the houses so high that you have 
need almost to lie flat on the ground, face upward, 
before you can see a bit of sky or the dear light of 
the sun ; but no one could lie down, or stand still 
suddenly, without being run over. Even as it was, 
I was knocked hither and thither constantly, till 
Frantisek took me by the arm and helped 
me along as though I had been a child. Through 


134 


FOR THE RIGHT# 


numberless streets, and past St. Stephen’s — a 
church about twenty times as large as our own — 
he brought me to a place called the Jew’s Square ; 
for what reason I could not make out, for not a 
single caftan or curl did I see. Mr. Victor Broza 
lived there in a stately house; but, dear me, 
the stairs I had to climb till I reached his flat ! 
No beggar with us would thank you for rooms so 
toilsome of access ! Mr. Broza’ s servant at first 
treated me superciliously ; but when I had sent in 
my letter I was admitted at once. The man I had 
come to see was a fine-looking old gentleman, with 
silvery hair, and wearing gold spectacles. Very 
noble he looked, but he was not at all proud. And 
what a comfort to me to speak in my own tongue 
again without being stared at as a curiosity ! But 
when he began, though all he said was kind and 
reasonable and well-meaning, my joy was gone. 
He warned me not to rest too great hopes on the 
Emperor. 4 He is a good man, to be sure,’ he said, 
‘ and if your object were to obtain some money- 
help for your parish, either to build you a church 
or to alleviate some special distress, he no doubt 
would listen to you graciously. But he cannot enter 
into legal questions vnth his infirmity, poor man. 
His crown is a heavy burden to him as it is ! ’ 4 1 

do not understand that,’ said I ; 4 if he can be 
gracious, how should he refuse to be just ? ’ 4 Well,’ 
said Mr. Broza, 4 matters of law are seen to by his 
lawyers. That is what they are for.’ 4 But if they 
pervert the right?’ 4 Then it is not his fault.’ 
4 But, surely he will interfere ! ’ 4 The Emperor ? ’ 

4 Yes ; who else ? ’ 4 Indeed, who else ? you may well 
ask ! ’ he said. 4 Your tale is a sad one, I grant, and 
if ever a case should be looked into I should say it is 
yours ! Ah, if his uncle Joseph were reigning still, 
or even his father Francis . . . the more you 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 135 

tell me, the more I fancy yours is a case for imperial 

interference ; but ’ He stopped embarrassed. 

4 Tell me/ I said ; 4 is he not able to do it ? ’ I 
could hardly frame the words, and the blood ran 
cpld at my heart. But Mr. Broza appeared to con- 
sider his answer, looking from the window, and 
saying presently : 4 He is troubled with headaches ; 
he is fond of working at his lathe, and he makes 
little boxes of cardboard.’ I stared, open-mouthed, 
Mr. Broza adding : 4 Why should he not, poor man ; 
it is an innocent pastime, and helps him to get 
through his days. . . .’ After that I could not 

well disbelieve it.” 

“But he is the Emperor! how is it possible?” 
cried Simeon and the women. 

Taras smiled bitterly. “ How is it possible ? ” 
he repeated. 44 I alsa asked this question, and many 
another besides, till good Mr. Broza looked aghast 
at me, and spoke soothingly. 4 I understand your 
feelings,’ he said, passing .his hand over my hair as 
though he were trying to calm an excited child. 
4 You are a fine fellow, Taras, but I daresay the 
world looks different to you at Zulawcefrom what it 
really is.’ 4 May be, much honoured sir,’ I said ; 
4 but I am sure of this, that human beings should 
act differently to one another than the wild beasts of 
the Welyki Lys, of which the stronger will always 
devour the weaker. Every man must see this, be he 
a poor peasant of Zulawce only, or the Emperor at 
Vienna.’ 4 He does see it, no doubt,’ cried Mr. 
Broza, 4 and he is always kind. But he can hardly 
know about every case of individual trouble, can he ? ’ 
4 No, but that is the very reason why I want to tell 
him my own sorrow myself.’ 4 But he would not 
understand you, you only speak the Buthenese ! ’ 
That was a blow ! I had refused to believe Dr. 
Starkowski, and here was Mr. Broza telling me the 


136 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


same thing! *A father unable to understand his 
children/ I said ; 4 it does seem strange ; but I dare- 
say he knows Polish ? ’ ‘I am sorry to say he does- 
not ; he was weakly from a child, and his studies 
had to be curtailed/ 4 Then, does he understand 
Czechish ? ’ ‘ Yes, that he knows.’ 4 That will do, 
then/ I said joyfully, ‘ I managed to get along with 
Prantisek, so i daresay I shall with the Emperor/ 
But that was not by any means the end of difficul- 
ties. ‘ I must warn you/ said Mr. Broza, ‘ he gives 
audience hut rarely, the petitions mostly are re- 
ceived by one of his cousins or generals/ That was 
another blow, but I recovered it quickly, saying : 

* Well, then, I shall just keep calling at his house 
till I can see him.’ Mr. Broza at this broke into a 
smile. * Do you think you can go to the Castle as 
you would to the house of your*parish priest ? There 
is a time set apart for audience once a week, though 
they are not very regular about it, and in order to be 
received at all you must first apply for admission in 
writing ! ’ * And I could come every week then, till I 
saw the Emperor in person ? ’ 4 Dear me, what ob- 
stinacy ! What is the use of your spending your 
time and money here on such a chance ? Give me 
your memorial, and I will take care to have it pre- 
sented.’ * Sir,’ I cried, ‘ I thank you ; I see you 
mean well by me, but you cannot possibly know how 
much there is at stake. I must see the Emperor 
myself.’ And this I maintained in spite of all his 
reasoning. But he, good man, took no offence ; on 
the contrary, he promised to obtain admission forme 
at the very next audience. He wanted to know my 
address, but I did not even know it myself, so 
Erantisek had to be called to give the name of the 
inn. Mr. Broza wrote it in a little book, promising 
I should hear. But I wanted to have some idea how 
soon I might hope to see the Emperor. ‘ I cannot 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 137 

tell,’ he said; ‘it may be some days, it may be 
weeks hence.’ I left him sadly. . . .” 

“ Well, I should not have waited like that,’* cried 
Anusia, hotly ; “ surely the Emperor goes for an 
airing once a day like any other Christian ! I should 
have waited outside his house till I caught sight of 
him, and, going up to him, I should have asked his 
leave politely to walk beside him a bit, and then I 
would have told him the whole story. That would 
have been my plan ! ” 

“And a very stupid one,” said Taras, smiling 
grimly, “ though you are my wife. Nor should I 
blame you, since that same stupidity was mine till 
I knew better. My heart quaked at the long pros- 
pect of waiting, and I knew from sad experience 
that it was no use to look for much in answer to 
writing. I said to Erantisek, therefore, ‘Do show me 
the house of the Emperor,’ and he went out with 
me the following afternoon. Once more we went 
far into the town, past the great church, and through 
endless noisy streets, till at last we stood before a 
large building. ‘ This is it,’ he said. ‘ Nonsense ! ’ 
I cried ; ‘ why there is not a bit of gold about it 
anywhere that I can see ! ’ He, however, insisted 
it was the Emperor’s house. When I saw he was in 
earnest, I looked at the place closely ; it was large, 
but not otherwise imposing, and quite blackened 
with smoke. ‘ I’d go in for some house-painting, 
at any rate, if I were the Emperor ; surely he can 
afford it,’ I said to myself, adding aloud to Eran- 
tisek, * Well, then, show me where the Emperor 
lives ! ’ Whereupon he took me round a square 
surrounded with tall buildings, and through a gate- 
way into another square, also overlooked by high 
houses, with sentries on duty at every corner. * All 
this is the Emperor’s,’ he said ; ‘ here he lives with 
his relations and a great many attendants.’ Imagine 


138 


FOB THE BIGHT. 


my surprise. But then I said, 4 1 cannot but think 
that he sleeps in one room and feeds in another — 
so please point out to me where he lives.’ Fran- 
tisek now appeared to understand, and took me to 
an open place, in the centre of which rose an eques- 
trian statue in cast-iron ; and he showed me a row 
of windows. 4 Very well,’ I said ; 'now let us take 
our stand by that entrance door.’ 'What for?’ 
said he. ' To watch for the Emperor when he goes 
abroad/ ' You innocent ! ’ he cried, laughing ; 
' don’t you know that the Emperor never walks 
out ? You may see his carriage, if you are lucky, 
bursting from the inner court, and dashing through 
the town as far as a copse on the banks of the river, 
returning thence at the same quick pace.’ He had 
hardly done speaking when there was a deafening 
roar, quite startling me. It was the sentry calling 
out the guard frantically. ' Look ! look ! ’ cried 
Frantisek, ' they are presenting — it’s the Emperor 
returning from his drive ! ’ And while he yet spoke 
a closed carriage with six horses swept past us and 
disappeared in the inner court. But for all their fast 
driving I could see who sat inside — two officers, the 
elder of them in a plain grey coat, and the younger 
wearing a whole array of stars and ribands on his 
breast. ' That will be him ! ’ I thought, but I heard 
Frantisek say : ' Poor Emperor, to think of his 
wrapping up in his cloak at this season like an old 
man in the depth of winter — they say he is always 
shivering with cold ! ’ ” 

" I could not doubt that he knew, having lived at 
Vienna these five years, and I went home sadder 
still ; for he who was wrapt in his cloak looked 
weary and worn.” 

“And was that really the Emperor?” inquired 
the popadja. 

“ It was ; but it was long before I could see him 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PPtNCES. 139 

close. For a whole week I waited for a message 
from Mr. Broza, but nothing reached me. Ah, 
friends, those were grievous days ! I sat for 
hours in the dull little damp room they had assigned 
to me, staring at the wall. I had composed such a 
beautiful speech on my journey, and had learnt it 
by heart, to address the Emperor, but all that was 
useless now since he knew not the Buthenese ; so I 
put together a few words which might serve my 
purpose. But perhaps he could not even under- 
stand that much, and all would be useless and 
things must go as they would ! . . . Frantisek, I 
saw, pitied me, for he would giv*e me every spare 
moment of his time, hoping to cheer me ; but how 
should he have succeeded ? although he did his best, 
taking me all about the great city to divert my 
thoughts. It was but little pleasure to me, for the noise 
and bustle was dreadful, and the people stared 
because of my dress ; there was quite a crowd some- 
times following me, fall of laughter and ill-disguised 
wonder, as though I were some monstrosity of a 
bullock. I soon grew tired of sight-seeing, and 
preferred my own little room, where at least I was 
unmolested.” 

“Did Mr. Broza forget his promise?” cried 
Simeon. 

“ By no means ; he was doing his very best. He 
told me so when, at the end of a week, I ventured to 
call again, and I am sure he spoke the truth. 
‘ Your name is down,’ he said, 4 you will he admitted 
to the next audience, but the day is not yet fixed. 
Next week, let us hope ! ’ I continued waiting, 
growing more heavy-hearted day after day. And 
then I had even money cares to face ! A hundred 
florins I had spent on my journey, and there was a 
florin a day of present expenses ; how, then, should I 
return home if I must use up my little hoard wait- 


140 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


ing and waiting ? I began to blame myself for not 
having followed your advice, and Dr. Starkowski’s ; 
and yet, God knows, I had not come to "Vienna to 
please myself. I could not have acted differently. 
Was it not for the sake of all that is most sacred — 
my honour, and the good of my soul? Was it 
not ” 

He stopped short, having caught a look from the 
pope’s eye, searching his face intently. 

“ Well then,” he continued, “ I went on waiting 
ten weary days, when at last Mr. Broza sent his 
servant, announcing that the next audience stood 
fixed for the following Tuesday week ; that was yet 
twelve days, but I breathed more freely, knowing 
the day now when the uncertainty must end. Thus 
humble a man becomes who is being taught by 
disappointment. I counted the days and hours, and 
on the Sunday previous to the longed-for audience 
I went to Mr. Broza, begging him to tell me how I 
was to behave. ‘ You mean in the Emperor’s 
presence ? ’ said he. * Why, yes,’ said I. ‘ But 
did I not tell you that although there be an 
audience you must not count on seeing the 
Emperor himself ? The petitions, most likely, wi 
be received in his name by one of the princes.’ 
I had to sit down, for the room went round with 
me, and it was some time before I could answer. 

‘ You did tell me, sir,’ I said, when I was able to 
speak ; * but I fully trusted the Emperor would be 
receiving in person this once at any rate ; why but 
for this should I have been kept waiting so long ? ’ 
But Mr. Broza shrugged his shoulders. * Let us 
hope so,’ he said ; ‘ but if you do not see him, be 
sure and hand your petition to the Archduke — he 
probably will hold the audience. Your conscience 
may be at ease, for you have done your duty to the 
utmost — better, I daresay, than any other village 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 141 

judge in Austria.’ * Thank you,’ I said ; ‘ but I can 
do no such thing. I shall give my petition into no 
hand but the Emperor’s own. And if he does not 
appear this Tuesday, I must wait for another 
audience, and another, till I see him.’ ‘ But, man, 
will you not listen to reason ? Who is to procure 
you a standing admission ? Such a thing was never 
heard of ! ’ ‘If it is really impossible,’ I replied — 
‘ and of course I believe you, for you have acted 
honestly by me — if it is impossible, I shall know 
what to do.’ ‘ And what may that be ? ’ ‘I shall 
throw myself into the way of his carriage when he 
drives out. If his coachman is able to pull up in 
time, I shall then present my petition ; if the horses 
go over me, then it will have been my fate.’ He 
looked at me aghast. ‘ And you would do that ? ’ 
‘ Certainly.’ ‘ Well,’ he said, ‘ there is no saying 
what one of you peasants is capable of in fighting 
for his right.’ Presently he added, ‘I shall have 
you conveyed to the Castle on Tuesday, and fetched 
away again. You must come to me directly after 
the audience, directly — do you hear ? ’ I promised ; 
but my mind was made up.” 

“ Taras,” cried Anusia, “ how could you have 
such thoughts ! ” 

His eyes burned darkly, and he shook the grief- 
streaked hair from off his forehead. “ I may have 
had worse thoughts,” he murmured; but the 
others hardly understood him. He paused, and 
went on quietly : “ Well, then, the audience. I 
dressed for it quite early, as a bridegroom on his 
wedding day, putting on my top boots, and the 
long brown tunic with the leather belt, and over it 
my best sheepskin — all white, the one with the 
broidered facings, you know, Anusia. It was 
rather hot for fur, suggested Frantisek, who had 
made my boots shine like a mirror, anxious to do 


142 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


liis part ; but I knew what was due to the Emperor, 
and took my fur cap of lambskin as well. The 
people stared worse than ever when, thus arrayed, 
I walked from the house to the open carriage kind 
Mr. Broza had sent for me, and as I drove along 
folk everywhere stood open-mouthed. I did not 
much care, for I knew by this time that the 
Viennese, whatever they may be besides, are the 
most curious people under the sun. We reached 
the Castle, and stopped by the entrance opposite the 
iron statue. A lackey helped me to dismount, 
bowing to the ground. I knew that the rascal 
meant it for mockery, and took no notice. At the 
top of the stair two red-coated halberdiers pre- 
tended to start at the sight of me ; but I showed 
my order for admittance, whereupon they directed 
me to a door opposite. I opened it, and came upon 
some more lackeys, who affected the same amaze- 
ment. One of them tried to take from me my 
stick of carved oak ; but I did not part with it. 
They laughed and pointed me to another door. 

“ I had reached the audience chamber at last : a 
long, spacious hall, all white and gold, and full of 
looking-glasses as tall as a man. I should never 
have believed such splendour possible — it was 
dazzling. Some fifty petitioners were assembled 
there already — old and young, men and women, 
soldiers and civilians, priests and laymen — some 
looking anxious and some hopeful. One thing we 
had in common — we all carried memorials in our 
hands ; but for the rest of it every age was repre- 
sented, every station of life, and, perhaps, every 
people of this great Austria. There was a poor 
tattered gipsy, and beside him a comfortable-look- 
ing lady in a silk dress ; an old gentleman in 
threadbare garments, and a young handsome officer 
wearing the Emperor’s uniform ; a Jew in his 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 143 

black caftan, a sleek Catholic priest, and many 
others. They moved about whispering, and behind 
them stood motionless some of the red-coated 
halberdiers. I could not but groan at the sight of 
so many seeking redress. ‘ Alas ! ” I sighed, ‘ it 
would take the Emperor half-a-day to listen to them 
all ; and of course he cannot do that, weak and sickly 
as he is.’ Yet there was some comfort, too, in 
there being so many. Some of these people, no 
doubt, had come a long way, as I had, spending 
their money for the hope that brought them ; and 
surely, I thought, they would not do it if the 
Emperor were not known to help readily. And it 
comforted my weary heart that rich and poor stood 
there side by side, all waiting for redress. ‘ We are 
all alike in the sight of God,’ I thought, 4 and so we 
are in the Emperor’s, who is His viceroy upon 
earth — how, then, should he not uphold the right? ’ 
This cheered me ; I looked up boldly, gazing at the 
people as they gazed at me. 

“ We were directed to stand in a half- circle, a 
man in a green dress-coat assigning to each his 
place ; and I perceived that there were degrees of 
dignity. I stood at the lower end, furthest from the 
entrance we were facing, together with two other 
peasants, by the look of them, also wearing their 
national costume. The one was rather stout, his 
dress consisting of light blue breeches, a tight- 
fitting jerkin, and a cloth cap with a plume; the 
other, tall and gaunt, wore baggy red trousers, and 
a long yellowish jacket, holding in his hands a felt 
hat with a high pointed crown. We had to wait a 
long time, and I did as the others did, endeavouring 
to draw my neighbours into conversation. They 
answered civilly, each in his own tongue, neither of 
us understanding the other. That was disap- 
pointing ; but I thought I would at least find out 


144 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


their nationality, and that by the only means I could 
think of. You know that our soldiers, if they bring 
home nothing else, return to us with a sad habit of 
swearing, picking up the country’s oaths wherever 
they go. 4 Psie sobaczy ! ’ I said ; but there was 
no response. So my friends could not be of the 
Slavonic race. 4 Kreuzelement Donnerwetter ! ’ 
they never moved ; so they were not German. 
4 Bassama teremtete ! ’ upon this my stout 
neighbour in the tight breeches gave a jump, 
jabbering away at me delightedly ; that settled 
it, he was a Hungarian ! But now for the other 
one in the yellow jacket. 4 Merge le Dracul ! ’ no 
response ; he could not be a Boumanian then. I 
was nearly exhausted, but luckily remembered one 
more chance. 4 Corpo di hacco ! ’ I cried, at which 
he aHo flew at me, embracing me wildly— an 
Italian ! But I wished I had been less curious ; 
for they went on talking at me eagerly, to the great 
amusement of all the company, and I could only 
nod my head, keeping on with 4 Corpo di bacco ! ’ 
and 4 Bassama teremtete ! ’ But why tell you all 
this nonsense ? — There was a hush of silence 
suddenly, for the great entrance door had opened.*’ 

Taras paused, evidently not in order to impress 
his hearers, hut because he was himself overcome 
with the recollection of that moment. 

44 The Emperor ! ” cried Anusia, with a gasp. 

He shook his head. 44 There appeared in the 
doorway,” he continued quietly, but with a tremor 
in his voice, 44 a man in the uniform of a general, 
rather short and white-haired, and some officers of 
different regiments behind him. My heart all but 
stood still and sight failed me — I think I should 
have fallen but for the steadying arm of the 
Hungarian. It was not the Emperor ; for although 
I had had but a passing glimpse of him, I knew 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 


145 


bis features from a portrait of his at the inn where 
I was lodging. That little white-haired general 
with the pouting under-lip — though he looked right 
pleasant otherwise — was a relation of his no doubt, 
being like him in feature ; but it was not the 
Emperor! Ah, beloved! I cannot tell you what 
disappointment surged up within me, I could not 
put it in words if I tried for ever ! I looked on, half 
stunned, watching him as he received the memorials. 
With most of the petitioners he could speak in their 
own tongue, and if there was one he was unable to 
understand, one or other of the officers acted as 
interpreter ; but with no individual case was he occu- 
pied longer than about a minute, passing on with a 
gracious word. Borne looked relieved, some rather 
woebegone, as they made their exit, a lackey 
directing them to a side door. I watched it all 
through a haze as it were, and perceived that at 
that rate my turn would be in about an hour’s time, 
counting from his beginning at the other end of the 
half-circle. I tried to collect my thoughts, but 
think as I would nothing could alter the resolution 
with which I had come — to plead with the Emperor 
and not with his representative. And with a 
beating heart, but firm of purpose, I watched the 
prince’s approach.” 

“Ye saints!” gasped the popadja, and Anusia 
crossed herself. 

“At last he stood before me ! I bowed low, he 
nodded and put out his hand for my petition. But I 
bowed lower still, saying : * All powerful and gracious 
Mr. Prince ! I know who you are, and that you are 
here for the Emperor ; but to him only can I make 
my request.’ He looked at me surprised, and 
turned for an interpreter. One of the officers, a 
captain, with ash-coloured facings, being of the 
Duke of Parma’s regiment, which I knew was 


7 


146 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


drawn from Podolia, stepped up, translating what I 
said. ‘ Peasant,’ added the officer thereupon, turning 
to me with a kindly face, ‘the Emperor is not to be 
seen, but it will be all right if you hand your petition 
to this gentleman, who is the Emperor’s uncle, His 
Most Serene Highness the Archduke Ludwig.’ Again 
Ibowed, saying, ‘ Have the goodness to translate this 
to the prince. He who stands before you is Taras 
Barabola, peasant and landowner, lately judge of 
Zulawce, sometime a happy man, hut now 7 despair- 
ing. He may be nobody in the eyes of the great 
ones, hut he is a human being in the sight of God, 
and therefore of His viceroy, the Emperor. He is 
here praying for his right, thirsting for it as the 
hart panteth after the waterbrooks. You, sir, are a 
fellow-countryman of ours, have pity on me and tell 
him this, word for word.’ And the officer turned to 
the prince, interpreting my speech ; whereupon the 
latter looked at me searchingly, putting a question. 
‘What is your trouble?’ translated the officer. 
‘Bobbery of the parish field,’ I replied, adding, 
‘ Tell him it is not merely a question of earthly 
justice, but that the future welfare of a soul is at 
stake. He is an old man I see, and will soon 
himself stand at the judgment bar of God ; beg 
him, as he would desire the Almighty to be merci- 
ful to him, to obtain for me an audience with the 
Emperor.’ ‘ My good man,’ replied the captain, 

‘ I am a Podolian myself, and have grown up among 
peasants, being the son of a village priest, so you 
may believe that I wish you well ; but I am not 
going to translate this speech of yours literally, 
for this is not the way to address a prince ! ’ ‘ But 

you must ! ’ I urged. ‘ It were taking an awful 
responsibility on your soul if you refused me ; and 
see, the prince appears to expect it! ’ So he had to 
translate it, and never a feature changed in the Arch. 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 


147 


duke’s face, but his eyes were fixed on me piercingly. 
I did not quake — why should I ? — but gazed at him 
fearlessly, my conscience not reproaching me any 
way. Turning to the captain presently, he spoke a 
single word. * Wait ! * translated the officer. And 
the Archduke went on, taking the rest of the 
petitions and passing from the hall ; whereupon the 
captain came up to me, saying, * Follow me ; the 
Archduke wishes to hear your story.’ ” 

“What rare good fortune ! ” cried Father Leo. 

“ Yes ; I suppose so,” assented Taras. “ We went 
along a corridor, and up and down some stairs, till 
we reached the Archduke’s room. It was a simple 
apartment, full of books, and not in any way more 
princely than Mr. Broza’s. He was sitting at a 
table covered with papers. We were ushered into 
his presence, I telling my tale and the captain trans- 
lating. The Archduke’s countenance remained as 
immovable as before ; no matter what I was saying 
his eyes only showed his interest. He put a ques- 
tion or two : how we lived in the village, whether 
we reared cattle and such like. By and by he 
addressed a few words to the officer, who then led 
me away. ‘Well?’ I said, trembling with hope 
and fear, when the door had closed behind us. 

‘ Your wish is granted,’ replied he. ‘ Be by the iron 
statue yonder at four to-morrow afternoon, where I 
shall join you to act as your interpreter with the 
Emperor. “ Why the man is of another planet,” the 
Archduke said to me, “ his confidence must not be 
shamed ! ” And he thinks the Emperor will like to 
see you, and that your Podolian garb will amuse 
him. He wishes you, therefore, to come in these 
same clothes to-morrow, and if you have anything 
in the way of weapons belonging to your dress to 
add it likewise.’ ‘ For God’s sake, captain,’ I cried ; 
‘I am coming to plead for tJie ngnt, and not to show 


148 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


my clothes ! ’ * Yes, yes,’ he said ; ‘ but do as you 
are told,’ adding kindly, ‘ you may thank your stars 
for this chance ; and even if to-morrow’s audience 
will avail you nothing, you may find it useful to 
have obtained the Archduke’s interest.’ ‘ I cannot 
understand that ! ’ I cried. ‘ Well, and I could 
scarcely explain it to you,’ said he, with a smile ; 
* but it is so.’ And so said Mr. Broza, to whom I 
now went as I had promised ; so also said the inn- 
keeper, to whom, with the aid of Erantisek, I had to 
give a minute account. They all agreed that I was 
fortunate.” 

“Why, a child could understand that,” interposed 
Simeon. “ The Emperor, no doubt, values his old 
uncle’s opinion.” 

‘‘May be,” said Taras, with a painful smile; 
“ but they did not take it in that way, as I came 
to understand the following afternoon. You may 
imagine that I arrived by the iron statue a good 
while before the appointed time — it is a figure of 
the good Emperor Joseph. The officer walked up 
to me by the stroke of four, conducting me through 
the inner court to a splendid marble staircase, and 
through many passages to a door blazing with 
gold and guarded by some of the redcoated halber- 
diers. We passed a large ante-room, and entered a 
smaller one, where we were told to wait. The 
chamberlain in attendance, who looked vastly 
stupid, kept watching me with furtive sneers, but 
I did not care ; my heart felt more solemnly uplifted 
than if I had been in a church. There was the sound 
of a little bell presently ; the chamberlain glided in, 
and returning, he beckoned us to enter.” Taras 
paused and drew a breath. “ I think,” he continued, 
slowly, “ the look of that room, and of the two 
gentlemen in it, will be present with me to my 
dying hour : it was a large, splendid apartment, 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 149 

darkened with curtains, which left a half-light only, 
shutting out the sun ; and at the table sat two 
officers — generals by their uniform. The one was 
that same old Ludwig, and in the other I recog- 
nised, when he rose, the Emperor ! A feeble-bodied 
man of middle height, slightly stooping, with a 
good-natured face and blue eyes . He motioned me 
to come nearer, but I took a few steps only, and 
fell on my knees, holding up my petition. Oh ! I 
did not kneel merely because it might be the 
custom, hut urged by my own deepest need. For 
at that moment all the trouble I had battled with 
for months past surged up within me, and, do 
what I would, the tears rose from my heart. . . .” 

“ And he ? ” cried Anusia. 

“ He came close to me, seemingly concerned at 
my emotion. Taking the petition I held out to him, 
he gave it to the Archduke, and then he addressed a 
few hasty words to me. 4 He tells you to rise and 
dry your tears,’ the captain w’hispered to me. But 
I remained on my knees, not to move his feel- 
ings, hut simply because it was the natural position 
for mine. * Thou Emperor/ I cried, ‘ have pity on 
me ! ’ He plainly did not know what to say, and 
putting his hand into his pocket, drew forth a ducat, 
which he offered to me. ‘ I want no money ; I want 
justice,’ I cried. The Archduke stepped up now, 
whispering a few words to the Emperor, and then 
told the captain I was to rise, and that the Emperor 
would be sure to examine into my case carefully. I 
obeyed with an effort, hut then I begged the captain 
to say that I would not hold myself assured till I 
had the Emperor’s promise from his own lips. ‘ I 
cannot say that,’ whispered the captain, alarmed; 
‘ it would be most rude to the Archduke.’ Where- 
upon I repeated the words myself, looking intently 
in the Emperor’s face. Now the captain was obliged 


150 


FOB THE EIGHT. 


to translate, and thereupon the Emperor nodded to 
me, but burst out laughing at the same time, as 
though it were quite a joke. I am sure he did not 
mean to hurt me, for he looked kindness itself, and 
would not kill a fly if it annoyed him, but his laugh- 
ter cut me to the heart ; I keep hearing it still in my 
dreams. . . . No doubt the anguish of my soul 

was written in my face, but he took no notice. He 
walked round me, examining me curiously, and put- 
ting several questions — who had embroidered this 
fur of mine? whether I had many furs like that ? and 
several pairs of these boots ? did I polish them 
myself ? and so forth. I answered his inquiries, but 
good God ! they stunned my heart. ... I think 
I would have given my life for his asking me a single 
question which did not refer to my clothes. But not 
he ! And I daresay my fur and my boots would have 
interested him awhile yet, had not the Archduke 
again whispered some words to him. He left off 
questioning, and smiled at me once more with his 
good-natured smile, again offering me his ducat — 
not as a charity, as the captain had to tell me, but 
in memory of having seen him. Thereupon, I took 
it — this is it, bearing his likeness.” 

He drew the coin from his belt. They all were 
anxious to see it, and agreed that the Emperor had 
a pleasant, good-natured face. “ And now you were 
ready to start for home? ” they said. 

“ Oh, no,” said Taras, with a sigh ; “for though 
my object was accomplished, my heart was no wise 
at ease. I wanted to wait for the Emperor’s answer. 
My petition prayed for a re- examination of the wit- 
nesses, and thus much the Emperor might command 
on the spot, I thought. Mr. Broza tried to dissuade 
me — it might be months before I should hear, he 
said, and it would be a waste of time and money. But 
I clung to my desire, entreating him till he pitied 


PUT NOT YOUR TRUST IN PRINCES. 151 

my distress and promised to inquire at the Imperial 
Chancery whether the Emperor's decision had been 
received. It was a week after the private audience. 
The reply was hopeless — not even the petition itself 
had as yet been filed. “I must look up that Uncle 
Ludwig,” I cried in my despair, and had some 
trouble in finding the captain who had acted as my 
interpreter — his name is Eugene Stanczuk, and his 
home is at Kossow, a few miles from Kidowa. I 
wanted him to take me once more to the Emperor’s 
uncle. * That is quite impossible,' he said, ‘ and 
moreover the Archduke has departed for his resi- 
dence in Styria ; he will not return here for months.’ 
When I heard this I knew that further waiting was 
vain. I strapped my bundle — honest Frantisek brush- 
ing my boots for the last time sadly, and I went to 
Mr. Broza to thank him for all his kindness and — 
should he trust me — to borrow some money of him, 
for I had only ten florins left. * That shall not 
trouble you,’ he said, counting out a hundred florins 
to me without even a witness, as though I were his 
brother. ‘ Let us hope for a favourable answer in 
time,’ he added, ‘ hut if I have any claim on your 
gratitude, as you say, promise me one thing — do not 
let it break your heart if it turns out a denial ! ’ 
Much as I owed him, this was more than I could 
promise ; I had gone to Vienna with a hopeful mind, 
and was coming away now broken-hearted.” 

He ceased, the sadness gathering in his face. 

“ I do not see that ! ” cried Father Leo, “ there is 
every room for hope since you have the Emperors 
own promise ! ” 

“ Have you seen him? ” said Taras, rising. “ Have 
you been to Vienna? You have heard my tale, but 
you have not been there to see ! . . . It is getting 
late — it must be near midnight. Kind thanks to you, 
friends. Come, wife, let us be gone ! ” 


CHAPTEE VIII. 


DESPAIR, 


HE days followed one another, and winter was 



_L at hand ; Taras, in silence, had taken up the 
old, changeless village life. He found plenty to do on 
his own farm in spite of the care bestowed upon it 
by Simeon during his absence ; and, labouring with 
his men, the most diligent of them all, he could for- 
get at times that one thought which kept burrowing 
in his brain. But for other reasons, too, it was well 
he was thoroughly occupied, for intercourse with the 
villagers could have comforted him little. 

111-humour against him had risen to its height, 
since his journey to Vienna also had proved a fruit- 
less errand. He had but two friends left besides the 
priest — his former colleagues, Simeon and Alexa. 
The others either openly hated him, or treated him 
with unkind pity as the fallen village king. As for 
his re-election to the judgeship, it was not so much 
as thought of. Simeon, true to his word, had re- 
signed his vicarious honours at All Saints’, rather 
expecting, however, the public confidence would turn 
to him ; yet not even he was elected, but a certain 
Jewgeni Turenko. 

The man thus chosen was a harmless individual, 
rather poor, who never could have aspired to such 
luck had the freaks of fortune not singled out his 
younger brother, Constantine, lifting him to the 


DESPAIR. 


153 


giddy height of a corporal in the Imperial army. 
It had never been dreamt of in the village, that any 
peasant lad of theirs could be more than a private, 
and now this hero of Zulawce had actually returned 
as a corporal, a live corporal, sporting the two white 
stars on his crimson collar. All the village felt 
itself honoured in this favoured soldier, entertaining 
the wildest hopes for his future. He has two years 
of service yet to come, they said; who knows but 
that he may be a sergeant before he has done? 
The young hero was ready enough to avail himself 
of the good opinions thus showered upon him. By 
his own account, he was one of the bravest of the 
brave, and as he could scarcely invent a great war 
as a background to his exploits, he devised some 
minor fancies, laying the scene in rebellious 
Lombardy — “ Corpo di Bacco ! where the heat of the 
weather is such that an ox in the fields is roasted 
alive in two hours.” How could the good people of 
Zulawce have thought little of a man who, in 
such a temperature, had saved a province to the 
Emperor ? And more especially, how should their 
womankind not have admired a soldier who, to say 
nothing of his splendid moustache, had by his own 
showing been proof against the allurements of the 
very countesses in those parts — “ devilishly 
handsome creatures, to be sure, but with the 
enemy’s females I have nothing to do ! ” It was a 
fact, then, that within a few weeks, Constantine 
Turenko had the upper hand in the village ; and as 
he could not be judge himself, being only on 
furlough, he managed that his brother Jewgeni 
should be elected, while two other friends of his, 
equally humble as regarded their wealth and wit, 
were chosen as elders. Thus aristocracy was laid 
low, the middle class rising. 

Taras had not striven against it ; he had voted for 

7 * 


154 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


Simeon, but for the rest he let matters take their 
course. “ The beggars will be the ruin of the 
village ! ” cried Anusia, in whom the pride of blood 
was strong. “It is atrocious that men like my 
Uncle Stephen, and you, and Simeon, should be 
succeeded by the rabble ! ” 

But Taras took it quietly. “ They are making 
their own bed,” he said, “let them try it ! ” 

“ I wish you would not pretend such callousness,” 
exclaimed Anusia, “ there is no one who loves the 
village better than you do ! ” 

“ Perhaps not,” said he, “ but I cannot alter the 
state of things ; besides, I have other cares now.” 

“Cares? What are they?” she cried. “Is 
not the farm as flourishing as ever ? ” To this he 
had no answer. 

He did his work in those days with diligence 
and perseverance, as though he were not the richest 
peasant in the village, but a poor labourer merely, 
who had to gain his next day’s bread. And 
whereas formerly he had always been guided by 
his own opinion, he would consult his wife's now, 
soliciting her advice. Anusia felt proud at this 
mark of confidence, till she discovered that he 
desired to hear her views in order to correct them. 
And as the question mostly referred to matters 
concerning which, capable as she was, she knew 
nothing, since, by the nature of them, they rather 
belonged to the husband’s sphere, she lost patience 
at last. “ What have I to do with assessments and 
taxes ? ” she exclaimed. 

“ You must get to know about them,” he replied, 
gently. 

“But why? Is it not enough that you should 
know ? ” 

“Yes, now; but the time may come when you 
will have to do without me.” 


DESPAIR. 


155 


These words did not frighten her, appearing too 
ludicrous. A strong, healthy man, not forty years 
old — how should she take alarm ? “ You croaker ! ” 
she said, “ we’ll think about that fifty years hence.” 

“ It is all as God may will,” returned he solemnly ; 
adding, “ Do it to please me.” 

“ Well, if it tends to your happiness, certainly,” 
she said, good-naturedly, and did her best to under- 
stand what he explained to her concerning the 
taxes and imposts. 

In the presence of his friend, the village priest, 
Taras never let fall such hints, meeting the good 
pope, on the contrary, with great reserve. But 
Father Leo took no umbrage, redoubling his affec- 
tion for the saddened man, and doing all in his 
power to counteract the low spirits to which 
evidently he was a prey. He even proposed to 
teach him reading and writing. “It is useful any- 
how,” he said, “ and you could amuse yourself with 
entertaining books.” 

But Taras declined. “ It is no use to me now,” 
he said, “ and will be still less presently. Besides, 
that which would rejoice my heart is not written in 
your books. Nor have I the needful leisure ; these 
are busy days on the farm, and after Epiphany I 
mean to go hunting. I shall be gone a good while 
I think.” 

“Do, by all means,” said good Father Leo ap- 
provingly, “ it will cheer you. And there is the 
general hunt before Christmas. You will not miss 
that.” 

“ I shall not take part,” replied Taras, quietly, 
“ even if they ask me, which I do not expect.” 

“ Not ask you ! ” said Father Leo. “ You the 
best bear-hunter born ! ” 

But events proved that Taras had judged right. 
Constantine objected to his presence, so the people 


156 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


did without him. That warrior had contracted a 
real hatred of Taras for various leasons, mostly 
foolish, but in part spiteful. To begin with, the 
dethroned judge was the natural leader of the more 
wealthy of the community, which was bad ; he 
was an “ enemy of the Emperor,” and that was 
worse ; worse still, the community had suffered 
loss “through him, and him alone;” the worst of 
all being that Constantine still owed a certain 
florin to “this bastard who had sneaked his way 
into the affections of an heiress.” 

Anusia felt it a personal insult, shedding passion- 
ate tears when the hunting party passed the farm ; 
but Taras did not move a feature, continuing quietly 
to All the sacks of corn that were to be sold. One 
thing, however, he did when the last sound of the 
noisy party had died away. He entered the 
common sitting-room, calling upon his eldest boy 
Wassilj. “My child,” he said, “you are eight 
years old, and our little father Leo is instructing 
you well — do you know what an oath is ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the little boy. 

“ And you understand what is being a judge ? ” 

“ Yes, it is what you were ! ” 

“Well then, lift up your right hand and swear to 
me that never in your life you will offer yourself for 
the judgeship, nor accept it if they ask you. Will 
you do that, and never forget ? ” 

“ I will, and will not forget it,” cried the little boy, 
earnestly lifting up his childish hand. 

And Taras kissed him and returned to his work. 
But Father Leo, on learning of the new insult 
offered to his friend, expressed his hearty sympathy. 

“ There is no need to trouble about it,” said 
Taras ; “ you see I am quiet.” 

“ And so you have every right to be ! ” cried the 
pope, warmly. “ Have you not always done your 


DESPAIR. 


157 

duty, ay, and a great deal more ! If sorrow is your 
part now, you can accept it with a strong heart, as 
of God Himself. He has been gracious to you, 
bringing you to this village and blessing you abun- 
dantly ; and if He now chastises you, it surely is for 
your good in the end. The ways of God sometimes 
are dark.” 

Taras shook his head. “ I don’t believe that,” he 
said, curtly. 

“Not believe in God?” cried the honest pope, 
aghast. 

“ I do believe in Him,” said Taras, solemnly, 
“ and I believe that He is all just, but that He 
brought me into this village, and that all this bitter 
grief has come upon me by His will, I do not 
believe. For if He guided every step and action of 
ours, if our fate were all His doing, no wrong could 
be done on earth. Nor does He, and we are not 
mere puppets in His hand ! ” 

“ Puppets ! what an expression ! ” cried the pope, 
rather perplexed and therefore doubly vehement. 
“ Nay, we are His children ! ” 

Taras nodded. “ His children, yes,” he said ; “ if 
we may use an earthly simile to describe our re- 
lation to Him, that is the word. But what does it 
mean ? we owe to our natural parents life and the 
training they give us ; beyond this they cannot 
influence us ; and so some of us are good, some 
are bad, some are happy, and some unhappy, 
whereas every one surely would be good and happy 
if the will of our parents could bring it about. 
And it seems to me we stand in a similar relation 
to Him above. He has made this world and the 
men that live therein, revealing to them His will : 
‘ Be righteous ! ’ He does give us a training by 
the very fact that the circumstances of our birth 
and childhood are as He wills them. But what 


158 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


we make of it, and what steps we take in life, 
that plainly is our doing. I own that we cannot go 
to the right or to the left in unbiassed liberty, for we 
choose according to our nature, following our heart 
and mind, such as they have become.” 

“ I do not seem to understand,” owned the pope, 
hesitatingly; “ but it would appear you believe in a 
blind sort of predestined fate, like any old crone of 
the village.” 

“ No,” cried Taras, sharply. “ Let me try and 
explain. During the years of my happiness, when 
blessings were about me, full and rich, like the 
summer sun ripening the harvest, with no shadowing 
cloud overhead, I did believe the goodness of God 
had thus ordered my day, and in my heart I thanked 
him. But when darkness overtook me with sorrow 
unspeakable, I grew sore at heart and hopeless as 
the lonely wanderer in the storm-tossed wilderness, 
seeking for shelter in the driving snow, and not a 
star to guide him in the night ; before him and 
behind no voice but that of howling wolves. . . . 
No, said I, this is not the will of God ; it is fate ! 
Let me go the way that is destined — happiness and 
blessings were to be, and the misery is to be, and 
the end is not mine to choose ! Of what avail that 
I should strive thus wearily, seeking the path in 
darkness and battling to escape the wolves, since it 
is destined that either I be victorious, or tail their 
helpless prey ? It was foolish, nay, maddening, 
while I thought so, but now I see differently: 
Nothing is predestined, our fate is here and here ” — 
he pointed to his head and heart — “ our virtues and 
vices are our guides in life, and besides this there is 
but one guidance to those that will listen to it, that 
all-encompassing will of God — ‘ Thou child of man, 
act righteously ! ’ That is it.” 

“ This is not a faith I can hold,” said the pope, 


DESPAIR, 


159 


“ but I am glad, at least, that you do not believe 
either in a blind fate or in mere chance. For my 
part,” he added, solemnly, “I shall always believe 
in the overruling of a Divine Providence that 
numbers the very hairs of our head.” 

“ That faith has been taken from me,” replied 
Taras. “ His heaping sorrow upon sorrow on me 
could be compensated for in the world to come; 
but I see the right trampled under foot, and the 
wrong victorious, and this cannot be by the dis- 
pensation of God. No ; it is just the outcome of 
the folly or the wickedness of man. As to chance, 
I certainly believe in it — who could live on this 
earth for well-nigh forty years and deny it, having 
eyes to see ! There surely is such a thing as 
chance. Have you forgotten what I told you as to 
my coming hither, or do you think it was God’s 
special providence to let that Sunday morning be 
fine? Did He order His sun to shine, merely 
that a poor man, Taras Barabola, should become 
head servant of Iwan Woronka’s at Zulawce, and 
not of that priest to whom I might have gone ? Is 
it not sheer presumption to suggest as much ? I 
say, there is a chance, but it does not make a 
plaything of us, we rather play with it, making 
it subservient to our destiny. The bright sunshine 
that Sunday morning certainly brought me 
hither ; but do you think it made me the husband 
of Anusia, or brought about my becoming the 
people’s judge? Do I owe to that sunshine the 
good that has come to me since, and the great load 
of evil ? Surely not, that was all my own doing, 
and nothing else. Chance, then, is nothing; but 
what we make of it can be little or much.” 

He drew himself up, looking proudly at the pope. 
“And this,” he cried, “must explain my every act 
hitherto, and my future actions. If I could believe 


160 


FOR THE RlOHl’. 


that Providence has mapped out my fate, I would 
follow blindly. Could I believe in chance or destiny, 
I should abide quietly what further they will make 
of me. But I believe no such thing — I hold that 
every man must follow the voice within, ay, the 
voice of God speaking to him in the highest law : 
‘ Be righteous ! Do no wrong, and permit no 
wrong ! * And these two commandments, equally 
sacred, I will obey while life is mine ! ” 

He turned abruptly and went away. 

Christmas had come. It is not a day of the chil- 
dren in the Carpathians ; they have no presents 
given them, and the Christmas-tree is unknown ; 
the one thing marking it out from other days being 
a certain dish of millet, poppy seed and honey, with 
mead as a beverage. In Taras’s family, too, the 
day hitherto had thus been kept ; but now he sent 
one of his men to Zablotow, ordering him to get 
various little presents for his own children and those 
of Father Leo. “ It is a way they have at Vienna,” 
he said to his wife ; “ it seems a pleasant custom. 
And I would wish that the children * should re- 
member this Christmas Day.” 

“ Why so, what is there about it ? ” 

“ Well, for one thing, I have been away so long 
this year,” said he hastily, turning to some occupa- 
tion. 

Christmas over, he had two large sledges laden 
with corn, taking them with his servant, Jemilian, 
to the New Year’s market at Colomea, as was his 
habit. 

But on the second of January the man re- 
turned alone. “The master has business with 
the lawyer,” he said; “ he will be home in three 
days.” Anusia grew frightened, and ran to her 
friend, the popadja. “ He is not going to come 
back,” she wailed. “ Now I understand his strange 


DESPAIB. 


161 


speeches, and why he insisted on making presents to 
the children that they should remember this Christ- 
mas. It was his way of taking leave of them ! ” 

But the pope reproved her. “ If you do not know 
your husband better than this,” he said ; “ I, at 
least, know my friend. It grieves me, to be sure, 
that he should re-open matters with the lawyer. 
But he has sent you a truthful message, there is no 
doubt about that.” 

Nor was he mistaken. Taras returned even 
sooner, on the second day. “I guessed as much,” 
said he, when Anusia clasped him, sobbing 
passionately ; “ you took alarm because I had busi- 
ness with the lawyer ; so I made what haste I 
could and travelled through the night.” 

“ But what is it ? ” she asked. 

He drew a little packet from his belt, unfolding it 
carefully, and producing a large sheet of paper. 

“The Emperor’s decision ! ” she cried, exultingly ; 
“ there is an eagle upon it ! ” 

At which he laughed bitterly. “ No, my dear. 
That eagle merely shows the Government stamp for 
which I paid five florins. The decision, that is, the 
refusal of my petition, need not be looked for for 
months. What need of hurry is there concerning a 
mere peasant ! ” But suddenly growing serious, he 
said : “ Listen, my wife ! This paper affirms that I 
have made over all I possess to the children, but to 
be yours while you live. I have kept back nothing 
for myself, except some money and my guns.” 

“ Wherefore? ” she cried, trembling, “ what can 
be the meaning of it ? ” 

“ Because — because — ” he hesitated, the honest 
man could ill prevaricate — “ because I might be fined 
heavily for the lawsuit. ...” 

“ It is an untruth ! ” she exclaimed. “You think 
of taking away your life ! ” 


162 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“No, indeed,” he asserted with a solemn oath. 
But she could not take comfort, despatching little 
Wassilj with a message to the pope. Father Leo 
came at once, expressing unfeigned wonder on being 
shown the document. 

“ Why, it’s a deed of gift, in due form and 
legally attested. But what for, my friend; what 
for ? ” 

“ You must not ask me.” 

The pope looked at him ; his gloomy face wore an 
expression of unbendable resolve. And Father Leo, 
thereupon, was silent, knowing it would be useless 
to inquire. After awhile, however, he began again : 
“ I will not press you, Taras ; but tell me one thing : 
Did you inform Dr. Starkowski of your reasons? ” 

“No,” replied Taras. “And that was why he 
refused to make out the deed. ‘ I require to know 
your intention,’ he said. But fortunately there is 
another solicitor at Colomea now — a young man who 
did not trouble about my reasons.” 

“Fortunately?” echoed the pope, with marked 
emphasis. 

“ Yes, fortunately,” returned Taras, equally 
pointedly. “ I have fully considered it.” 

Again the pope was silent ; and then he spoke of 
everyday subj ects in order to inquire presently with 
all the indifference he could command. “ And what 
are your plans for the present ? ” 

“I have told you some time ago,” said Taras. 
“ To-morrow is Epiphany ; after to-morrdw I shall 
start for a several weeks’ hunting.” 

“Not by yourself?” 

“ Oh, no. I shall have Wassilj Soklewicz with 
me, and my two men, Jemilian and Sefko — that is, 
if I may take them, Anusia,” he added, with a smile, 
“for you are mistress now.” 

“ Do not jest,” she said. “ I am well content you 


DESPAIR. 


163 


should take them. There is little to be done on the 
farm now, and they are faithful souls. But I hope 
you will let the two boys and Simeon go with you 
as well, they are just longing for it.” 

“ No,” said Taras, “ that is impossible.” Nor did 
he alter his mind when, the following day, Hritzko 
and Giorgi pleaded their own suit. “ Have we in 
any way offended you? ” they vehemently inquired. 

“ Certainly not,” he assured them kindly. “ You 
are fine fellows, both of you, but I cannot possibly 
take you. Your father is a true friend to me, and he 
is getting old. I — I must not let his sons risk their 
life.” 

“Risk! Why, what risk should there be? We 
did so enjoy it last year.” 

“ All sorts of things may happen on a bear hunt ; 
and, indeed, I will not take the responsibility, on 
account of your father. It is different with those 
others who will accompany me ; they have no special 
family ties, either of them. It is really impossible, 
my good fellows, much as I would like to have you.” 

He took leave of them affectionately, as he did of 
their father, of Alexa, and of the pope’s family. 
They all felt concerned at his going, but none of 
them could have given any reason. Anusia alone 
was brave-hearted. “ You will recover your spirits,” 
said the faithful wife, “and, therefore, I am pleased 
you should go. When shall I expect you hack? ” 

“ In six weeks at the latest.” 

And thus they parted. Anusia once again ruled 
the farm, and did so with a strong hand, equal to 
any man’s for determination. The new judge, 
Jewgeni Turenko, before long found occasion to 
testify to her firmness. 

The mandatar, for reasons known to himself, had 
been keeping at a distance lately; hut whenever 
he was present at the village Jewgeni had no easy 


164 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


time of it. For Mr. Hajek continued in the path 
he had begun, and his claims were many, the new 
judge being nowise equal to his predecessor in dis- 
tinguishing the just ones from the unjust. And 
being something of a coward besides, he made all 
sorts of concessions which clashed with his duty to 
the village. So, hoping to conciliate his own 
party, he sought to lay the burden on their op- 
ponents. And, since Anusia for the time being was 
unprotected, she seemed a fit person in his eyes to 
try the experiment upon. Consequently, he showed 
himself on her premises one day, informing her that 
she must tell off two extra hands for the forest 
labour about to fall due. “ There is no such claim 
on me,” she said, curtly, “ it will be no use wasting 
any words about it.” He ventured to remonstrate, 
showing his fist ; but the judge of Zulawce had the 
worst of it — he retired rather hastily, bearing away 
on his face some visible tokens of her prowess. 

The sixth week had not elapsed when old 
Jemilian presented himself before his mistress with 
a splendid bearskin, and delivered his message : 
Taras sent his love, and prayed for further leave of 
absence ; he would return for Palm Sunday. 

“Is he well?” inquired she. 

“Yes, quite well.” 

“ And of a cheerful heart ? ” 

“Yes,” averred the man. His eyes sought the 
ground, but Anusia did not notice that ; she 
trusted the honest servant, who for upwards of 
twenty years had lived on the farm. “ Then I am 
quite satisfied,” she said ; “let him stay as long as 
it gives him pleasure. It is five weeks more, to be 
sure ; but let him have it.” 

And thereupon Jemilian went over to the pope’s. 
“ My master has sent me,” he said, “he is anxious 
to know whether the imperial decision has arrived 


DESPAIR. 165 

lie gave directions to have it transmitted to 
yon.” 

“ Nothing has come,” said Leo ; “ but how is your 
master?” 

Jemilian repeated his statements, hut Father Leo 
was not taken in, although he had trouble of his 
own, and sympathy with others might have been in 
abeyance — his youngest child was grievously ill of 
the small-pox. But he was a true friend of Taras’s, 
and could turn away from his own grief. “ Look 
me in the face,” he said, sternly; “it is not meet 
to offer an untruth to the priest. Tell me what you 
are after up there.” 

“Well, we hunt,” Jemilian replied, hesitatingly. 
But the pope was not thus turned off, and after a 
little more of prevarication the man was obliged to 
confess. “Ah, your reverence,” he said, “such 
hunting as Taras’s the Carpathians have never seen. 
The Almighty must have clouded his reason ; He 
must, indeed ! On first starting we all took it for 
granted he would lead us to the Red Hollow, the 
best hunting ground far and wide. But he took us 
on — on, far away into the mountains. He never 
notices the track of the bear, and if we call his 
attention to it he shrugs his shoulders, On — on, we 
go. He seems to have but one object — to get to 
know his way in the mountains. If we pass a 
dense forest he takes his axe, making his mark upon 
the trees. If we come across a herdsman he does 
not inquire what life the bears have led him, but is 
anxious to learn the character of the neighbourhood 
and its bearings. It is the same if we put up with 
any cottager. He makes friends with the people, 
giving them cartridges for their guns, and asking 
them for nothing but directions to find his way. 
On we go, westward chiefly, but exploring right and 
left — from mountain to mountain, from glen to glen. 


166 


FOE THE BIGHT. 


Denser grows the forest, more ragged the clefts ; we 
seek a path through the rimy brushwood, our hands 
torn with the brambles. . . . Ah, your reverence, 
I am a bear hunter of thirty years’ standing ; but 
what the Carpathians are I found out but lately.” 

“ And have you asked him what is the object of 
all this ? ” 

“Indeed I have — again and again, but to no pur- 
pose. How often have I said to him : ‘ What is the 
good of roaming through the wintry waste like this ? 
Your servants would be well content if they could see 
you enjoyed it ; but you push on, sad unto death — 
what is the good ? ’ His reply being always the same : 
‘ It must be, my men, and if you love me you will 
follow.’ Love him? — of course we do. Your 
reverence knows as much as that yourself, that to 
know him is to be ready to go to the death for him. 
. . . Well, we followed him like sheep their shep- 

herd, chiefly westward, for the space of twenty days, 
when we reached a cottage, and the people there were 
Huzuls still, but of different ways from ours. * We 
are of the Marmaros,’ they said. We spent the 
night with them, and it was the same as every- 
where. Let Taras but begin to speak with people, 
telling them of his life and inquiring into theirs, and 
his charm is upon them ; they look up to him and are 
glad to serve him. Indeed, your reverence, he has 
a wonderful influence over men, if he chooses to use 
it ; this has been very plain in our roamings. From 
that cottage he led us back again towards Pokutia. 
‘ It was useful to have seen something of Hungary,’ 
he said ; 4 but now we will turn our steps homeward 
again.’ That was both sensible and pleasant, and 
for sheer satisfaction I forgot to ask him why it 
should have been useful to seek a weary way 
through brambles and riven rocks to have a look at 
the Marmaros. Nor could I feel satisfied long, for 


DESPAIR. 


167 


he soon turned from the rising sun, striking off 
northward, over mount and dale, as we had done 
before. Never a shot he fired, though we met the 
finest deer ; he only kept noticing the country. At 
last we stopped far beyond Delatyn ; he gave us a 
day’s rest, and then in quick marches he brought us 
back to these parts, stopping near the Eed Hollow. 
We arrived two days ago, putting up for the night 
in the dell of old Michalko, and yesterday we had 
some hunting at last. We were fortunate too, for 
not two hours passed before we sighted a splendid 
bear, and Taras killed him, rather carelessly, but the 
bullet hit clean between the eyes. It was the first 
time these six weeks that I saw him smile — he 
was pleased with his good shot. And when 
Lazarko and I had drawn the creature he sent me 
home with the skin.” 

“Lazarko,” interrupted Father Leo, “who is 
he?” 

Jemilian had tripped evidently. He grew red 
and stammered : “Oh!. . . some fellow. . . . who 
joined us. . . . ” 

“ Don’t attempt what you have so little talent 
for,” returned the pope ; “ your lies are transparent. 
Why do you depart from the truth ? ” 

“I cannot help it,” said the man, apologetically; 
“ Taras has enjoined me so very sternly not to 
mention Lazarko, for fear of harming the poor 
youth. ...” 

“ Lazarko?” repeated the pope, rubbing his fore- 
head, and exclaiming suddenly : “ You don’t mean 
Lazarko Eodakowicz, of Zolince, surely ! ” 

“Yes I do,” confessed Jemilian. 

Father Leo was dismayed*: “ And this man our 
Taras suffers near him ! Is he not aware that 
Lazarko is a murderer? Why the fellow shot the 
mandat ar of his village ! ” 


168 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


“ He did. But only because the mandatar dis- 
honoured the girl he loved.” 

“ That is true. I knew the parties, Zolince being 
but a couple of miles from my late cure. The 
mandatar was a wretch, the girl honest, and the 
youth had borne a good name. But to commit 
murder is an awful thing nevertheless, andLazarko, 
so far from in any way expiating his guilt, made it 
worse by escaping into the mountains, where he 
joined the band of Green Giorgi, thus becoming a 
brigand — a ‘hajdamak.* I trust Taras was not 
aware of that ! ” 

“ He was,” said Jemilian, “for Lazarko came to 
us straight from the outlaws. And since the matter 
has escaped me, I may as well tell your reverence 
the plain facts of it, for you are Taras’s friend. We 
knew well enough, on going beyond the Red Hollow 
into the heart of the mountains, that we must fall 
in with some * hajdamaks ’ ; for the Carpathians 
are their natural haunt, and not all the Whitecoats* 
of the empire will be able to say a word against it. 
We had no fear ; four of us, and carrying arms, we 
were a match for the devil if need be. Besides, it is 
well known that the hajdamaks hardly ever attack 
a peasant or a Jew ; they are the sworn enemies of 
the Polish nobles only, and of the Whitecoats if 
driven to it. So we went ahead fearlessly, and our 
first encounter with one of their kind was not calcu- 
lated to terrify us — a beardless milksop, half- starved 
and frozen. Our watch-fire brought him near, and 
he begged humbly for leave to stay. But Taras 
stepped up to him : ‘ Let us first see if you deserve 
it 1 ’ he said sternly. ‘ Is your mother alive ? ’ 
‘ She is dead.’ ‘ Then answer me truly, as you 
would wish her to be at rest in her grave. I pre- 
sume even a fellow like you will own the sanctity 

* Soldiers. 


DESPAIB. 


169 


of that oath ! Why did yon take to the mountains ? ’ 
‘ Well, just because of my mother’s death ; my father 
married again, and the step-mother turned him 
against me. I, the heir to the farm, had to do the 
meanest labour, and was treated like a dog besides. 
So I ran away ! ’ ‘ This is no reason for taking to 

the mountains ! Why did you not try life in another 
village, eating your bread honestly, as the servant of 
some respectable peasant?’ The fellow looked 
abashed. 4 1 had heard of the merry life up here,’ 
he said at last. * Away with you ! ’ cried Taras, 
‘it is mere laziness and greed of enjoyment that 
made you a hajdamak ! Away ! ’ And his look was 
such that the fellow made the greatest haste to 
escape. A few days later we had a more serious 
encounter. We were deep in the heart of the 
mountains, not far from the Marmaros, resting one 
night in a forsaken cattlefold. Our fire was life, when 
suddenly an armed band appeared, headed by a 
handsome young man, with a finely-twisted mous- 
tache, carrying the white bundaf carelessly on his 
shoulders, with the green, silver- broidered jerkin 
beneath. . . .” 

“ Green Giorgi himself,” cried the pope, crossing 
himself involuntarily. 

“ Yes, himself ! Your reverence will be aware of 
the stories concerning him — that he has power to 
show himself in different places simultaneously, and 
that he knows men and all about them, though he 
has never set eyes On them before. How that should 
be I cannot tell, but he certainly knew us. ‘I 
make you welcome, Taras ! ’ he said, con- 
descendingly. ‘I intend to start a-hunting to- 
morrow, and rejoice to fall in with the best bear- 
hunter of the country ! ’ But Taras did not accept 
the proffered hand. ‘If you know me so well, 
* The fur mantle. 


8 


170 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Giorgi,’ he said, ‘ then you must be aware, also, that 
I never shrink from saying the truth. We are but 
four of us, and you about three times the number ; 
we have but our guns, and you, I see, carry pistols 
besides. If you wish to attack us, we are lost. 
But nevertheless, I tell you, I shall neither hunt 
with you to-morrow, nor suffer your company a 
moment longer than I can help it this night. A 
man like you must poison the very air I breathe.’ 
Giorgi grew white. ‘Why?’ he hissed, ‘snatching 
at his girdle, where a pair of silver-mounted pistols 
were to be seen. ‘I am not bound further to 
explain my opinion,’ replied Taras ; ‘ to he a 
hajdamak is a miserable trade, yet there are reasons 
which may force an honest man to take to it. You 
have no such excuse. You are a mere deserter from 
the ranks of the Whitecoats. And you carry on 
this sad trade after a cruel and shameful fashion 
besides. When the peasants of Boskow, last 
autumn, called upon you to help them against their 
hard-hearted lord of the manor, you were not 
satisfied with plundering this Polish tyrant’s 
property, hut you committed robbery in the village 
besides; you not merely killed the tyrant, who 
deserved it, but you killed the innkeeper, a poor 
Jew, whose only crime consisted in having saved up 
a little money, which roused your cupidity. I could 
lay many similar charges at your door, but I 
daresay this will suffice.’ But, so far from sufficing, 
it was more than the ruffian could brook. He drew 
his pistol, foaming with rage. But we three — Sefko, 
Wassilj, and I — had cocked our guns at him, his own 
people standing by gloomily. He would have 
discharged his pistol, nevertheless, had not one of 
his party made a dash at him, whispering some- 
thing we did not understand. He gave a scowling 
look at his followers and turned to go. ‘You 


DESPAIR. 


171 


coward ! ’ cried Taras, ‘ an honest man’s bullet is too 
good for you ! ’ At daybreak we learned the reason 
of his yielding, and, indeed, had guessed as much — • 
he could not rely on his men. They had joined 
him, believing him to be an honest hajdamak, and 
not a murdering brigand. ...” 

“No hajdamak can be honest ! ” interrupted 
Father Leo, sharply. 

“ Well, honest, as the saying is,” continued Jemi- 
lian, a little abashed. “ I was going on to say that 
at daybreak two of his men, Lazar ko and Iwan, 
came to us, assuring us they had thus believed in 
him, and entreating Taras to take them under his 
protection, as they were tired of the wicked life. 
He listened to Lazarko hut not to Iwan, although 
the latter swore by his mother’s grave that he also 
had intended to be an honest hajdamak. . . 

“ Honest ! honest ! ” broke in the pope once 
more. “ I wish you would not thus use the word.” 

“Well, honest, as people take it,” rejoined Jemi- 
lian. “ I meant to say that Iwan had become a 
hajdamak only because he had shot a tax-gatherer 
who was unlawfully going to distrain the goods of 
his mother, a poor widow.” 

“And that is an honest reason ? ” 

“ Taras admitted it as such. But he nevertheless 
refused the young man’s request, because he had 
assisted Green Giorgi in a deed of cowardly violence. 
He gave this account of it himself, crestfallen 
enough : * Some weeks ago,’ he said, ‘ while scouring 
the lower Bukowina, we received information that a 
Jewish wine-merchant from Czernowitz was travel- 
ling by himself along the mountain road to Transyl- 
vania. On learning this, the captain disguised him- 
self as a peasant, requesting me to do likewise. We 
lay in waiting by the roadside. The Jew arrived 
presently, driving his car, and Green Giorgi begged 


172 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


him to give us a lift. He good-naturedly agreed, 
although his vehicle was small, and, taking our 
places beside him, we drove on for about a couple 
of hours, engaging him in conversation. But on 
entering the dark, narrow valley of the Putna, the 
captain stunned him w T ith a sudden blow, ordering 
me to fire, which I did, yet with so trembling a 
hand that the bullet merely grazed his arm. There- 
upon Green Giorgi drew his pistol and despatched 
him.’ Thus Iwan, amid sobs and groans; we 
listened horror-struck, but no one was more moved 
than Taras himself. 

“‘Was not the Jew a broad-built man, with 
a reddish beard, and blue, kindly eyes?’ he 
inquired presently, with husky voice. ‘ Yes, 
yes,’ groaned Iwan ; ‘ah, it is those eyes I 
cannot get rid of. . . .’ * Villain ! ’ cried Taras, * I 

knew the man ; he showed me a similar kindness. 
But even if I had never seen him I could have 
nothing to do with an assassin ! ’ * Have pity on 

me,’ pleaded Iwan, ‘ I could not gainsay the captain, 
and it was but a Jew ! ’ * Away, villain ! ’ repeated 

Taras furiously; ‘is a Jew not a man? Andyou 
need obey no one for the committing of murder ! * 
Iwan fell on his knees. ‘ If you reject me, I can but 
shoot myself,’ he cried. ‘ There will be no 
harm done if you do,’ said Taras, ‘ for it is what you 
have deserved ! ’ We turned from him, going our 
way. And he did as he had threatened, the lads of 
old Michalko telling us only yesterday that they 
found him dead in the forest, the discharged pistol 
in his stiffened hand. We were sorry, but Taras 
never altered a look. . .*’ 

The priest paced his room excitedly while this 
report was being given, and now he stood still. 
“These, then, are your hunting pleasures!’’ he 
cried, wringing his hands. “ Is this the pastime by 


DESPAIR. 


173 


which Taras hopes to regain his spirits? And the 
worst of it is, it seems to delight him — he will return 
for Palm Sunday only ! How do we know he will 
return then ? ” 

“ He will keep his word,” said the man, con- 
fidently. “ I was no less alarmed than you, and 
would not have come hither with his message had 
he not sworn faithfully to return by Palm Sunday.” 

Father Leo took comfort, asking presently : 
“ And did he tell you what he means to do now? ” 

“Not in so many words, but I am pretty sure he 
will now take us through the Bukowina. ...” 

Leo stared at the man, horror-struck, his whole 
figure trembling. His plump, honest face was livid 
with the thought that had come to him. He grew 
purple and white again, and big drops stood on his 
forehead. “ Jemilian. . . .” he groaned. 

The man had watched him, his own appearance 
as it were reflecting the pope’s emotion. But now 
he stretched forth his hands as though combating 
an unworthy suspicion. “No, no ! ” he cried, “ do 
not — do not insult the pure-hearted man ! ” 

The pope drew a deep breath, and fell again to 
pacing his room. 

Some time passed in silence ; the labouring man 
seemed lost in gloomy thought. When he looked up 
presently, Leo started as out of a dream. “ Go,” he 
said with trembling voice, “ and God be with you ! 
Tell him our conversation, and that I shall look for 
him by Palm Sunday without fail. If we were not 
in trouble ourselves, I would think nothing of the 
twenty miles’ distance, but would go with you to 
urge his return even now.” 

“ Do you know him so little ? ” said the man with 
a smile. “’Twere easier to make the Pruth flow 
backwards than to turn him from his purpose. But 
he will keep his promise.” He drew a breath 


174 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ Doubt him not ! And pray for him,” added the 
faithful soul, “ he sorely needs it.” 

Jemilian departed, and Father Leo returned to 
the bedside of his youngest child. The little hoy 
lay in high fever, tossing the more wildly as his 
hands were tied up for fear of his scratching the 
painful pustules. 

The apothecary who had seen him a couple of 
days ago had judged that the illness would run its 
course favourably, but that it had not yet reached 
its height. And it was so ; twelve weary days had 
to pass before the danger was over. And even 
then the poor parents could not lift their heads, for 
when the little one recovered, both the elder boys 
sickened with the same terrible disease, and all their 
anxiety began afresh. No one could have blamed 
Father Leo if in this season of sorrow he had 
thought little of the absent friend, all the more as 
the daily visits of Anusia had ceased ; she was 
obliged, for her own children’s sake, to hold aloof. 
But on the contrary, he thought much and pitifully 
of the roving man and his strange hunting-time. It 
scarcely needed the sad news which reached him on 
the last Sunday in Lent to rouse his sympathy 
afresh. 

For on that day a messenger from the district 
town brought over the long-expected imperial re- 
script. Leo knew what the contents would be, and 
yet he hesitated to break the seal. Those thoughts 
that had come to him as he listened to Jemilian’s 
report — thoughts of a suspicion which he had striven 
to combat — surged up in him afresh. And he felt as 
if that red seal in his hands were dyed with the 
heart’s blood of the most righteous man he had 
known. He almost felt forbidden to break it, and 
when he did so at last it was with a sigh. He was not 
mistaken ; the writ contained not merely a denial, 


DESPAIR. 


175 


but also a reproof for having wantonly troubled the 
ear of His Majesty. Father Leo groaned. “ Taras 
must never know that,” he murmured. “ I shall 
not give him the literal contents.” 

But not four-and-twenty hours had passed before 
all the villagers knew that the Emperor had written 
a letter to Taras, saying : “ You good-for-nothing 
subject, if ever you trouble me again about your law 
suits, I shall have you shut up in prison ! ” It was 
the corporal who thus paraphrased the imperial 
decision, having it direct from Harasim Woronka, 
who was a common labourer now, thanks to his 
drink, working for the mandat ar. It was Mr. 
Hajek’s doing that this version was thus carried to 
the people ; he had learned at Colomea that the de- 
cision had arrived, and had instructed his under- 
steward accordingly. Father Leo was greatly in- 
censed, and saw he had no choice now but to inform 
Taras of the full contents, there being no mention 
of prison at any rate. And he made up his mind to 
get an insight into Taras’s heart if possible, hoping 
the confessional in Passion Week would yield the 
opportunity. 

Palm Sunday was at hand. Early spring had 
made its appearance, the snow was fast melting, the 
south wind blew, and the hearts of men were happy. 
Father Leo especially had reason to bless this early 
spring, the vivifying influence of which made itself 
felt in the sick-room, helping to conquer the dread 
disease. But the parents yet took turns in sitting 
up at night. 

And thus the night before Palm Sunday found 
Father Leo awake in the dimly-lit chamber ; the 
boys were asleep, he, with stockinged feet, walking 
up and down between them and the window. 
Again and again he stood still by their little beds, 
looking down wistfully at the pale faces of his 


176 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


children, on which the illness happily had left no 
ravages, and, turning back to the window, he would 
gaze out into the moonlit night. The village street 
was bright as day, but solemn in silence. The 
trees, just breaking into tiny buds, stretched forth 
their branches into the glimmering air, and there 
were quivering sounds as of the whispering winds 
of spring. From a copsewood near, the call of the 
screech owl was heard ; it is counted a death omen 
in most places, but Father Leo scarcely noticed the 
dismal notes for the kindly light pouring down upon 
the world. And the pious man lifted a full heart 
to the Giver of all goodness, who had brought back 
his little ones, from the arms of death. “ If I could 
but tell them,” he murmured, resuming his walk, 
and seeking words for the holy things that moved 
him. The good man was making his sermon for 
the morrow. 

He was startled by a sound from the window, a 
finger tapping the pane gently. A dark figure stood 
without, and, looking close, he recognised Taras. 

He hastened to open the sash a couple of inches. 
“ Welcome ! welcome ! ” he said warmly. “ I am 
glad you have made good your promise.” 

“ I returned an hour ago,” replied Taras. “ My 
wife and children are well ; but you have seen 
trouble ? ” 

At which the pope made haste to add that the 
Lord’s goodness was being shown to him even now. 
“ Come in,” he concluded. 

“It is late,” said Taras ; “ I only wanted to have 
a look at you. Though, let me say, I know what 
you are keeping for me, happening to fall in with 
the two lads of Simeon by the Czeremosz yesterday, 
and they told me the imperial decision had arrived.” 

“ But I daresay they have not told you correctly,” 
said Father Leo, anxiously. “ We will put off every- 


DESPAIR. 


177 


thing till to-morrow, but no false report in this 
respect shall grieve your heart a minute longer 
than I can help. The rescript consists of a few 
lines only, and I have read them so often that I 
know them by heart. It is true that your petition 
is refused, because the verdicts of the local courts 
had plainly shown you in the wrong. And you are 
warned from again appealing to the Emperor need- 
lessly ; it is condoned this once, because of your 
evident zeal for the good of the parish. These are 
the very words : ‘ The subject Taras Barabola is 
herewith instructed to refrain from again troubling 
His Apostolic Majesty or the Imperial magistrates, 
and to submit to justice.’ That is all, I assure you ; 
never a word of prison. And it is bad enough as it is. ” 

“ Bad enough,” repeated Taras slowly. “What 
were the last words ? ” 

Father Leo looked at him, he could see his face 
plainly in the moonlight ; it was quite calm. So he 
repeated the final clause. 

“To submit to justice,” said Taras after him, 
slowly. “ Good-night.” 

The pope would have wished to detain him, but 
the clock had struck one some time ago, and it was 
the hour for giving the children their medicine. So 
he shook hands with him through the window and 
returned to the little patients, where the phial stood 
by the side of a night-light. 

He was just taking up the bottle, when suddenly — 
fearfully — a cry rang through the stillness without, 
half lost in the distance, but so terrible, so death- 
inspired that he shook violently, sending forth a 
cry in return. The children sat up in their beds 
sobbing, but he flew back to the window, trembling, 
and listened. Deep silence had settled without, and 
not again was it broken; yet he gazed out anxiously, 
prepared for the very worst. 


8 * 


178 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


But all seemed at peace ; the little cottage gardens, 
and the street, and the fields heyond, lay swathed in 
moonlight, but deserted and still. Nowhere a trace 
of living soul, not a sound to be heard, save the 
whispering of the branches bending to the night air. 
Was it Taras ? Did ever human breast send forth 
such a shriek of mortal agony? The priest could 
not tell, but he remembered the screech owl. “ The 
bird of night may have flown past the house,” he 
reflected , straining his ear to catch a repetition of 
the sound. But all was still ; only the wind kept 
swaying the branches. 

He crossed himself and returned to his children, 
endeavouring to calm them ; and having given them 
their medicine, he strove to take up the thread of 
his sermon. But that was well-nigh impossible. 
Again and again he stood still, listening ; but only 
the gentle voices of the night reached his ear, no 
sound of alarm — the screech owl was silent. . . . 

The small hours passed slowly, gloomily. With 
the dawn the popadja entered to take his place. 
“ Little father,” she said, “have I been dreaming, 
or did I hear it? A terrible cry broke upon my 
sleep, as of a man being strangled and crying for 
help. ...” 

“ I daresay you dreamt it,” returned he, huskily, 
making haste to gain his study ; there was early 
service at eight o’clock, and he really must collect 
his thoughts for his sermon. 

But it was impossible, for while he was yet dress- 
ing he was suddenly seized with a burning desire to 
see his friend, and nothing was to be done but follow 
the inward compulsion. He snatched up his cloak 
and hurried from the house. 

Entering Taras’s farmyard, he found his two 
eldest boys in their Sunday garments, with bright 
plumes in their brand-new caps. They were making 


DESPAIR. 179 

a desperate noise with toy trumpets. On seeing the 
pope they ran up to him and kissed his hand. 

“Father returned last night,” they cried, “ and 
see what he brought us — a trumpet each and these 
beautiful caps.” 

“ Is he at home ? ” inquired the priest. 

“ No. He is gone to see Jewgeni.” 

“ The judge ? ” 

“ Yes — that judge,” returned little Wassilj, with 
all the contempt he was capable of. “ He has busi- 
ness with him. He would never go and see him for 
the pleasure of it.” 

“ And where is your mother ? ” 

“ Getting ready for church.” 

“ Well, tell your father to come to me in the 
vestry directly after service. Do you understand? ” 

Wassilj promised to deliver the message. “ And 
I know what for,” he added, with childish impor- 
tance, “ the Emperor’s answer has arrived.” 

Full of disquietude the priest retraced his steps. 
“ What business can he have with the judge ? ” he 
wondered. 

Explanation was at hand. He came upon the 
judge at his own threshold. 

“ triad to meet your reverence,” said Jewgeni. 
“I have called for your advice. My brother is 
against it, hut all the people are for it.” 

“ For what ? ” 

“It is Taras’s proposal. He came to me this 
morning saying : * I want you to call together the 
general meeting directly after service — not merely 
the heads of families, you know, but all the com- 
munity. You are aware that the final decision has 
arrived from Vienna. I want to render an account 
to the people. Now whether you are my enemy 
or my friend is nothing. You are the judge, and 
I claim this as a matter of right.’ I need not tell 


180 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


your reverence that his friend I certainly am not. 
For, firstly, he is against the Emperor ; secondly, 
he is a bastard ; thirdly, he is only a lowlander who 
has sneaked into our village ; and, fourthly, that wife 
of his ” 

The man involuntarily put his hand to his face. 
Father Leo understood the' gesture, but his heart 
was too heavy for a smile. 

“I know,” he said quickly, ‘‘you are not exactly 
his friend, good man though he is. But what 
answer did you give him? ” 

“ None at all,” replied the judge, rather bashfully. 
“ How could I without first consulting my brother 
Constantine, and he is against it. ‘ Do you want 
him to talk the people over?’ he said. ‘What 
have we to do with his petition to the Emperor ? 
If he has lost his case it serves him right,’ said 
Constantine.” 

“ For shame ! ” cried the honest pope. “ But 
what of the people ? You said they are for hearing 
him. I hope they are.” 

“ Well,” returned Jewgeni, “ my brother ought 
to know, being a corporal ! But the elders and 
others of the men who heard of it think differently. 
‘He shall have the meeting,’ they said ; ‘it is due 
to him in simple justice.’ And what may be your 
reverence’^ opinion ? ” 

“ Call the meeting, by all means ! ” cried Father 
Leo, warmly. “ Shall this man, who has sacrificed 
so much of his time, his money, his powers, for the 
good of the people, not be permitted to render his 
account, because he has stood up for your right, 
even beyond his duty? Of course you must hear 
him!” 

“ Very well, then,” said the judge, meekly, kissing 
the priest’s hand, “the meeting shall be called. 
The people can be informed after the service, but I 


DESPAIR. 


181 


will send a message to Taras at once. Yet I am 

not sure my brother, the corporal ” he scratched 

his head and went his way. 

It was high time for Father Leo to repair to 
church for early mass. He hastened to his vestry, 
where the sacristan stood waiting to assist him with 
the vestments. And Father Leo began his duties. 

The church was one of the United Greek com- 
munity, in which mass was read according to the 
Roman Catholic rite, but in the language of the people, 
consequently the worshippers were able to follow in- 
telligently. It was a good congregation, and they 
appeared to listen prayerfully whilst Father Leo 
with his choristers chanted the antiphony. But the 
good father himself had trouble in centering his 
thoughts on his sacred occupation. His eyes had 
scanned the people, and he knew that neither Taras 
nor Anusia were present. But Taras’s companions 
had come — Jemilian, Sefko, and Wassilj Soklewicz, 
looking haggard and worn. 

Mass over, the priest returned to his vestry to 
put off the heavy garments before mounting the 
pulpit. He was on the point of re-entering the 
church, when the outer door leading to his sanctum 
was torn open, little Wassilj bursting in, sobbing. 

“What is it?” cried the priest, white with 
apprehension. 

“ Little father,” sobbed the child, lifting his hands 
beseechingly, “ mother entreats you to come to us 
at once — at once ! It is a matter of life and death, 
she says.” 

“ Good God — what is it ? ” 

“Alas!” cried the boy, “I cannot tell you! I 
only know that mother is in despair.” 

“ Is your father at home ? ” 

“ Yes ! We were just starting for church, when a 
messenger from Jewgeni arrived, saying, * The 


182 


FOB THE BIGHT. 


judge will comply with your desire, and the general 
meeting shall he called.’ Thereupon father turned 
to mother, saying, 4 Then we cannot go to church, 
for I owe it to you to tell you before telling the 
others.’ And to us he said, ‘Run into the yard, 
children.’ But we remained in the hall . . . and 
. . . we never did it before ! ” sobbed the child. 

44 Did you listen?” 

44 Yes ! We heard father’s voice, he spoke lowly 
and we could not understand. But presently 
mother gave a sharp cry, as though she were 
suffering some fearful pain. I could not help 
bursting in, Fedko and Tereska after me. Mother 
was on her knees before father. 4 Don’t do it — oh ! ’ 
she sobbed. 4 But I must ! ’ he said, 4 not even pity 
for you and the children must prevent me ! * 
And we began to cry, and mother said, 4 Yes, 
children . . . come and kneel to him ! Perhaps he 
will listen to your tears, if he will not to mine ! ’ 
Ah, little father, her face was streaming. ...” 

44 Go on ; what else ? ” 

44 We knelt, we lifted up our hands, and we cried, 
* Don’t do it, father, for pity’s sake ! ’ But he shook 
his head, big tears running down his own face. 
And then mother sent me to fetch you. Do come, 
little father ! ” said the child, weeping. 

Father Leo’s chest heaved. 44 How can I?” he 
said, 44 the people are waiting for the sermon ! It 
would be wrong to disappoint them.” 

44 It would, your reverence,” remarked the 
sacristan. But the child had got a hold of his 
gown, repeating anxiously, 44 Come ; oh, do come ! ” 

44 It is the lesser wrong.” said Father Leo, with a 
sudden resolve. 44 Run home, Wassilj, and say I am 
coming directly.” 

And hastily he entered the church. 44 1 beg your 
leave, good people,” he cried. 44 1 cannot give you 


DESPAIR. 


183 


a sermon to-day. God will forgive me, there is a 
holier duty waiting,” and he vanished into his 
vestry. 

There was a loud murmur in the congregation, 
surprise being uppermost. And then there was a 
flocking forth from the building. But outside 
Jewgeni and his elders kept crying : “Go to the 
linden, all of you ! We call the general meeting 
for the hearing of Taras.” 

The corporal stood by, smiling an evil smile. 
“ Let us go and hear the joke ! ” he said, following 
the stream of the people. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE, 


HE pope, meanwhile, made what haste he 



JL could to Taras’s house ; it was barely a 
ten minutes’ walk, but it appeared to him fearfully 


long. 


Having reached the farm, he rushed into the 
house — it was silent as a churchyard ; after much 
looking and shouting he discovered only little 
Tereska near the hen-roost. The child had a tear- 
stained face, hut seemed to have recovered her 
spirits, taking evident pleasure in chasing a hen. 
“ Where is your father? ” inquired Leo, anxiously. 

“ Gone ! ” said the child, and began to cry again. 

“ Gone? ” — Father Leo crossed himself — “ where 
to?” 

“ Don’t know — he and mother ” 

“ To the meeting ? ” 

“ Don’t know,” repeated the little one, sobbing 
more violently. “ Mother was crying, and father 
was crying ! ” But the hen appeared to make its 
escape, and the child was after it. 

“They can only have gone to the meeting,” said the 
pope to himself, retracing his steps speedily. 

The inn with the linden in front of it was a little 
way beyond the church. The village seemed 
deserted; only a tottering old man in front of a 
cottage sat basking in the sun. “I wish you 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


185 


would send my grand-daughter back,” he called 
out, querulously, “ Taras will have plenty of listeners 
without her.” 

Father Leo, indeed, found the place crowded; 
the very oldest and youngest excepted, none ot the 
village were missing. For the “ general meeting” 
is an event, and duly appreciated. The faces 
of the people reflected its importance as they 
thronged in a circle about the linden, where a 
table had been placed by way of a platform for the 
speaker. 

Taras was just mounting it when Father Leo 
arrived ; a murmur of expectation ran through the 
people, of pity, too, with most, and of spite with some. 
But surely this latter sensation was smitten with 
shame at the sight of the unhappy man about to 
address them. His hair had become grey, his face 
was worn, and his eyes burned with a piteous fire 
deep in their sockets. 

“ Ye men of the village,” he began, with trembling, 
yet far-sounding voice, “ and all of you who are 
members of this parish, I thank you for coming 
here, and I thank the judge for having called this 
meeting. For although it is but a duty on your part, 
and on his, to hear me, yet a man who has lived to 
see what I have seen, is grateful even for that 
much ! 

“ Jewgeni will have told you why you are here: 
I want to render an account — yet not concerning 
the past, as he seems to think, but concerning that 
which is at hand. Listen, then, to what a man has 
to tell you who has been happy and has become un- 
happy, because justice is what he has loved and 
striven for most. Some of you love me, others hate 
me, and I daresay I have grown indifferent to many. 
But I pray you listen to me without love or hatred, 
as you would listen to a stranger whom death over- 


186 


FOB THE BIGHT. 


takes in your village, and who is anxious to unburden 
his soul before he goes hence. You would have no 
personal sympathy with such a one, but you would 
believe him because he is a dying man. Well then, 
believe me likewise, for I am a dying for your 
sakes !” 

A shrill cry interrupted him, and a wave of excite- 
ment passed over the closely-pressed people. In 
vain the pope endeavoured to force his way ; this 
wall of human beings stood firm as a rock. But on 
the other side of the linden, towards the inn, some 
of the men were seen moving. “ They are taking 
away his wife ! ” was whispered from mouth to 
mouth. “ She has fainted ! ” 

Taras had not stirred from his place. An agony 
of grief quivered in his features, but he stood 
motionless. They saw him lift his hand, the com- 
motion subsided, and in silence they hung on his lips. 

“ Men and women,” he resumed, “ you have just 
witnessed that which is enough to move any heart ! 
Give her your tenderest pity ! She needs it doubly, 
not understanding that what I am about to do I 
must do. Love to me and to the children makes it 
impossible for her to follow my meaning. But you 
will see more clearly ; you will perceive it is not 
wantonness and wickedness that forces me to 
separate from those that dwell in peace. The guilt 
of it will not fall on my head, and I need not fear 
the wrath of God. When the day of His reckoning 
comes I shall be able to answer. But I also shall 
have a question to ask of Him in that day, and I 
shall look for His answer. Let me hope it will not 
differ from what meanwhile I have said to myself 
in His name ! 

” Listen, then, to my confession. There is both 
good and bad to be said of me, in accordance with 
the truth. For a man should not be unjust to him- 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


187 


self, any more than to others. And if in most cases 
it is but a false shame that would conceal one’s 
vices or one’s virtues, it were a crime in mine. My 
heart, therefore, of which I have not yet been able 
entirely to root out pity for myself, shall not influ- 
ence my speaking. And what were the use of 
complaints ? Am I not like a man whose fields have 
been wasted, whose dwelling has been destroyed 
by the flood from the mountains ? Shall such 
a one sit down by his ruined home crying : ‘ Why 
should God have sent this to me ? why should the 
flood find its way just to my house?’ Why, 
indeed ! Surely it was not mere accident that the 
pent-up waters should have broken through just in 
this direction ; and if he is wise he will not sit still, 
but will ascend the torrent till he find the cause of 
his trouble. And I will not have you stand about 
me lamenting, but you shall follow me up the 
stream to see why the roaring waters have burst on 
my happiness, singling me out for destruction. 

“ You are acquainted with my past, as though I 
had grown up among you. You know I am a 
bastard, and that I had to suffer greatly on this 
account; but you also know that, thanks to my 
mother, the wrong I endured became a blessing. 
She had been brought to see that the heart is 
poisoned which ceases to believe in justice on earth ; 
so she regarded not herself in order to teach me 
that faith. And when I had been able to overcome 
a terrible temptation, when I had gained for myself 
the goodwill of men, this faith of hers appeared to 
me also the very bulwark of life. Yes, my friends, 
I had learned to look upon this earth of ours as 
upon a well-ordered place where each man has his 
own share of labour, and is rewarded according to 
his work : for equity and justice seemed to be the 
foundation of things. 


188 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ He who has once admitted this belief into his 
heart and mind can never be really unhappy, even 
if misfortune should overtake him like a thunder- 
storm in summer. Trouble did come upon me. I 
bore it — first the illness and death of my mother, and 
then the return of my father. The first trial was 
the sorest, but my soul could rise from it with less 
effort than from the intercourse with the vagabond, 
just as the body will recover more easily from 
some painful gunshot wound than from a lingering 
fever. You all know how I strove to do what was 
right by my father, and you also praised me for it ; 
hut it was only a rendering of justice, the paying 
hack of the debt I owed to my mother. He 
denied being my father, the memory of her that was 
gone was being sullied, and that made me willing 
for any sacrifice, ready to bear any burden without 
murmuring or sinking under the load. It made me 
serious, but not sad. For did I not suffer for the 
sake of justice, which grew all the dearer to my 
heart ! 

“The old man died. I did not rejoice; I felt 
like those men who all their life long carry salt in 
heavy loads from here to Hungary, bringing back 
packages of Hungarian tobacco instead. The poor 
slave wipes his forehead and is glad to have arrived 
at his destination with his burden of salt, but he is 
not therefore jubilant, for he knows that he will set 
out with his bundles of tobacco to-morrow, which 
are just as heavy, though otherwise different from 
the salt. Yes, my friends, young as I was, I had 
already learned the lesson that this life of ours is a 
mere changing of burdens, and I was content it 
should be so. For did not everything depend on 
how we carried our load ! But mine hitherto had 
been heavy, and I longed for a change, longed for 
another burden elsewhere. I believed that at 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


189 


Kidowa I should never cease hearing the unkind 
and evil speeches of him for whom I had borne so 
much ; the very air, I believed, must be full of them. 
You know that even the wild beasts can be driven 
forth from their haunts ; destroy their home and 
they will repair it, but if you befoul it they go. So 
I looked for a place elsewhere, and chance brought 
me to Zulawce. 

“ Looking back on those days, how should I not be 
filled with the pity of it all ? You know how I came 
to you — a man loving diligence and understanding 
his business, thoroughly capable of managing a 
farm, honest in all things, and trustworthy. Of 
the pleasures of life I knew nothing. I had never 
yielded to drink, had never conquered a man in 
fight, never kissed a girl for love. But I did not 
regret it, enjoying in those days what I believed to 
be the greatest satisfaction of all, a real content with 
myself. And why should I not ? Was I not doing 
my duty? Was I not endeavouring to be just — yes, 
and had suffered for righteousness’ sake ! Added to 
this, I had complete power of self-control as far as 
that may be said of sinful man. I knew that this 
Taras, a self-made man, who from a despised 
bastard had risen to a position of respect among his 
fellows, would all his life long be noted for integrity, 
for helpfulness and justice; that he would never 
permit any wrong, nor ever intentionally repay 
evil with evil. Thus I believed myself strong and 
safe, come what might ; for I could never be false 
to myself, and the world could not fail me, since, 
to the best of my knowledge, it was so firmly 
grounded on justice.” 

He drew a deep breath, a sad smile hovering 
on his lips. “ Bear with me, my friends ; did I not 
warn you there were some good things to be said of 
me ? But be very sure there is cause for blame as 


190 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


well, nay, I must bring an accusation against 
myself concerning the very days I speak of. My 
self-reliance was far stronger than could be justi- 
fied by any virtue or success of mine. I not only 
believed myself to be a good man — which no doubt 
I was — but the very best man of my age and con- 
dition. This ugly delusion, like my virtues, was 
the natural outcome of my history, of my every 
experience. If a man has to climb a very steep 
mountain, he must believe in himself, considering 
himself stronger and more capable than perchance 
he is, else he would never set out on his journey, at 
any rate he would fail by the way. And how 
much more so if he is all alone ! ‘ The thumb 

thinks more of itself than all the four fingers put 
together,’ our much-lamented Father Martin used 
to say — one of the few sensible sayings he could 
boast of. 

“You may wonder that I should accuse myself 
just of this vice ! If I were to put the question to 
you to bring home to me any proud saying or act of 
conceit, I dare say none of you could do it. Have I, 
then, deceivedyou — shown myself different from what 
I am ? Do I stand here a hypocrite, self-convicted ? 
Nay, God knows it is not so, and this will not ex- 
plain the apparent discrepance. It was no trouble 
to me to be gentle and good and kind to every one, 
first at Ridowa and then at Zulawce — helpful to all, 
and ready to serve them. I did but follow my own 
inmost nature, and to be different would have cost 
me trouble. Indeed, that pride of mine which 
possessed me was of a peculiar kind. I, at least, 
never knew a man who was lorded over by a similar 
taskmaster. The consciousness was ever present 
with me — ‘ This Taras Barabola is a good man, and 
righteous and just. I am glad I am he ! ’ But it 
were a mistake on your part to suppose that for this 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


191 


reason I was happy, wrapped up in my own esteem. 
No, indeed — that pride of mine, again and again, 
was the cause of shame to me, when I examined 
my deeds and those of others. ‘ No man is a 
church-door,’ says the proverb with us. And I, too, 
was of flesh and blood ; I, too, must fail and sin 
where I would not. Little sins mostly, at which 
another might have laughed without therefore being 
counted wicked or specially hardened. But to me, 
they were grievous beyond words. And no effort, 
no honest will of mine was a defence against them ; 
for man is but human, and walking along the dusty 
road of this life he can scarcely keep his skirt 
entirely pure. The careless man will not be 
troubled by a little more or less of dust on his 
garment ; but he who, so to speak, has a habit of 
frequently looking at himself in the glass, cannot 
but feel the smallest speck a burden. And thus, 
just because of my pride, my little sins have 
weighed on me far more than many a man can say 
of his grievous ill-doings, and to atone for them 
seemed almost impossible. 

“ But more than this, even the ill habits of others 
would be a burden to me in the same way. For 
instance, to exemplify it by the most frequent occur- 
rence, it was a real pain to me to see any neighbour 
of mine yield to drink, carrying not only his earthly 
gains but his very manhood into the public house, 
there to lose them. Others would find it best to 
mind their own business, but that pride of mine 
left me no peace. * What is the use of your being 
so good, Taras,’ it would say, ‘ unless you strive to 
help and save ? What is the use of your being so 
sensible, so sober and self-denying, except that you 
should be an example to these besotted fools ? ’ I 
was just driven to do what I could to rescue the 
man ; my pride would have torn me to pieces had I 


192 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


forborne ; and if I failed in my endeavour, as in most 
cases I could not but fail, it made me sad at heart, 
and I believed myself bad and useless because of it. 
It was the same regarding the laziness or unfitness 
of any in their daily work. I would try to get hold 
of such men gently, teaching them without hurting 
their vanity. In these things I mostly succeeded, 
for a man will more readily take your advice con- 
cerning the ploughing of his field or the management 
of his cattle, than he will take it in matters of drink 
or ill-usage to some poor girl. Moreover, I could 
always fall back on myself — I mean, if some idle 
or besotted neighbour would let his farm go to ruin 
I could come to his assistance ; for the diligent man 
is never short of time, and my own farm need not 
suffer because of my helping another. Indeed, I 
have often thus helped a neighbour, sometimes 
because compassion was strong in me, but more often 
it was just that same pride that made me do it.” 

“ You should not say so ! ” broke in a voice, 
quivering with emotion. “ You should not, indeed ! 
How dare you call it pride — how dare you make a 
vice of what is the rarest of virtues? ” 

It was Father Leo. With a troubled heart, 
shaken to its depth with pity and with grief, he had 
listened to his friend. He alone had understood 
what Taras meant in saying he must “ separate from 
those that dwell in peace,” and he knew that the 
terrible forebodings which had come to him during 
the interview with Jemilian were about to be ful- 
filled. But how to prevent it — ah, how, indeed? 
Every fibre of his honest soul trembled with the 
apprehension of it ; every faculty of his brain was 
bent on finding a means of averting the great sorrow 
at hand. “ I am unable to hold back ruin,” he 
murmured, pressing closer to the table, longing to 
be nearer his friend when the terrible word would 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


193 


be spoken. And standing there with a beating 
heart, the whole history of the strangest of men 
once more passed before his soul — all the shaping of 
so dread a fate — since first he beheld Taras, the 
leader of the community gathered by the Pruth to 
receive him on making his entry into the parish ; all 
he had known of him since, until the interview by 
the window in the past night, until that cry of 
despair still ringing in his ears but far distant 
already, for God only could tell how much of the 
terrible history had been woven even since that 
cry. ... 

“ It is all as it must be,” sighed he, bowing his 
head ; “ there is no help for it ! ” But his im- 
passioned heart could not surrender without a 
struggle. If he could do nothing else for his friend, 
he at least would not allow that best of men to 
accuse himself unjustly before this crowd of listeners, 
of whom few indeed were fit to look upon so noble 
a soul thus laid bare to their gaze. It was for this 
reason he had interrupted him at the risk of a sharp 
rebuke from the highly- wrought speaker. 

But Taras was calm, smiling even as he made 
answer: “Nay, your reverence, I must distinctly 
contradict you — I know it was pride. But I will own 
to you that the only man to whom I ever opened my 
heart before this hour, speaking to him about this 
vice, shared your error. The man I mean was that 
honest compatriot of ours at Vienna, Mr. Broza, and 
he spoke words to me which I should not repeat if 
I were not a dying man. ‘ This is sheer blasphemy,’ 
he said, ‘ do you not see whom you accuse of sin, if 
you call that kind of disposition pride? None 
other, let me say it reverently, than the Saviour 
Himself — Christ Jesus, the Lord ! In this sense 
He also was proud — ay, a thousand times prouder 
than you — the very proudest man that ever lived. 

0 


194 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


. . . But happily,’ he added, ‘ happily we call it 
by another name — the beneficence of him who being 
a law to himself is filled with tenderest love to his 
neighbours. ... I do not mean thereby to com- 
pare you with our Lord, Taras,’ he concluded, 
4 but you are a rare man nevertheless — a Christ-like 
man.’ Bear with me, men and women, for let 
me say it over again, it is a dying man that dares 
repeat such words to you. And surely I know my 
own heart better than another can know it. It was 
pride that moved me ; it was sin. 

“ But having now laid bare my inmost heart to 
you, showing you the good and the bad within me, 
you may judge for yourselves how I must have felt 
when first I came among you. It was as though I 
had entered a strange world, it was all so different 
from the lowlands — different and, as I was ready 
to say, worse. But my pride did not permit me 
to look down upon you on that account, or to 
rejoice in finding you wanting ; on the contrary, it 
urged me at all hazards to correct your ill habits. 
It was no easy matter for me to understand you, 
and find a reason for your doings ; but I set about 
it and perceived where to make a beginning, and to 
what length I could go. My task grew plain. 
There was need to improve your agriculture, giving 
you for your low-lying fields the ploughshare of the 
plain. There was need to show you how to benefit 
your live stock by increasing the number of herds- 
men and providing the cattle with shelter. There 
was need to accustom you to a garb more suitable 
to your labour, need to teach you the advantage of 
adding rye-bread and beef to your staple food. 
There was need, above all things, to break you from 
that wildest of your habits, so full of danger to 
yourselves, the constant wearing of arms. . . .” 

He stood erect, stretching forth his hand, as he 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


195 


scanned the people proudly. His eyes shone, and 
his voice increased in fervour. 

“ For twelve years I have lived in this village. 
As a poor serving man I came hither, and for years 
I boro the scorn of many. I have never boasted of 
what you owe me ; no word or look of mine ever 
called your attention to what I have done for 
you. Nor would I do so now. What, indeed, 
were the gain of your thanks to a man in my 
position? But I will have you know the truth 
about me, and justly you shall judge me; it is 
therefore I ask you — Have I done these things, 
and were they for your good? Have I benefited 
you, and is it my doing — mine alone?” 

His voice swelled like thunder : “ Speak the truth, 
men of Zulawce — yes or no ! ” 

There was a breathless silence, broken after a 
minute or two, as the forest silence is broken by a 
gust of wind when the branches whistle, the stems 
bend and creak, and every creature starts up 
affrighted, the many voices blending in one mighty 
sound ; and thus to the pale, proud man but a 
single answer was given, bursting simultaneously 
from these hundreds of men. 

“ Yes, Taras, yes — it was all your doing ! ” 

And then only the excited answers of individuals 
were heard. 

“ Yes, indeed,” exclaimed an old man, “just eight 
years ago Taras built us the first cattle-fold, and the 
gain since has been double ! ” 

“Long live Taras!” cried Simeon, half choking 
with sobs. 

“Yes! yes!” broke in Wassilj, the butcher, 
“if we feed better, it is because he showed us 
how! ” 

“ And it is all true concerning the plough — I ought 
to know ! ” chimed a voice like that of a little boy. 


196 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


It was Marko, the smith, a giant to look at, who 
owned this queer little voice. 

“ Long live Taras ! ” repeated Simeon; one after 
another joining in the cry — “ Yes, Taras for ever ! ” 

But the unhappy man stood trembling, his 
bosom heaved, and tears ran down his haggard 
face. He tried to speak, but the words would not 
rise to his lips, nor could he have made himself heard 
for the people’s wild acclamation. At last he 
succeeded, and, holding out his folded hands to them, 
he cried with a voice so rent with agony that his 
listeners grew white with dread. 

“ Stop ! stop ! for pity’s sake, stop ! Let not your 
thanks overwhelm me, lest your reproaches presently 
be the harder to bear. For pure and honest as my 
intention was, you will come to see I have lived to 
be a curse to myself and my family ; a curse, also, to 
you! ...” 

There was a deep silence when he had thus spoken, 
a solemn pause, and all the harsher sounded the 
spiteful voice of the corporal which broke it : “A 
curse? ah, you own it ! but you took care it should 
fall lightly on yourself, you who fooled an heiress 
and sneaked into the judgeship ! ” 

“ Hold your tongue, you villain ! ” burst from a 
hundred voices ; and when Simeon added, indignantly, 
“Be off, wretch that you are! ” the echo went round, 
“ Be off ! ” The worthy hero grew pale, continuing, 
however, to smile and to twist his moustache, that 
finest of moustaches in all Pokutia. But ere long his 
smile forsook him, for he beheld a little armed 
band that had pressed up to the speaker, endeavour- 
ing now, with cries of resentment, to make their way 
to him. There were six of them — Hritzko and 
Giorgi Pomenko, the sons of Simeon ; Sefko and 
Jemilian, Taras’s men; Wassilj Soklewicz, and 
with him a stranger — that same Lazarko Bodak- 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


197 


owicz, whom Taras had admitted to his own 
followers, although he had come to him from Green 
Giorgi, the outlaw. They were in a towering rage, 
and evidently bent on punishing the corporal. 

Constantine trembled visibly, offering not the 
slightest resistance when two of his comrades — like 
him, on furlough — took hold, one of his right arm and 
one of his left, to drag him away towards the inn. 
The people made room, but the words which fell 
from their lips were anything but complimentary. 
“ You cur ! ” cried the men, “ you heartless 
scoundrel, how dare you insult that man in his 
sorrow ? . . . Cannot you see that he has re- 

solved upon an awful thing, even his own death ? 

. . . And besides this, are you not one of our- 

selves, you beggar ? Do you not know that respect is 
due to the general meeting? ” 

The crestfallen warrior saw fit to hold his peace, 
making what haste he could towards the safety of the 
inn. Not till he had gained the threshold did he find 
courage to bethink himself of some witty remark, 
but it shrank back within his own soul on his enter- 
ing the parlour ; he stood still, abashed. 

They had laid down the wife of Taras on one of 
the broad wooden benches of the deserted place. 
The heart-broken woman was a sight to move any 
man ; some of the women were striving to comfort 
her, especially the good little popadja and a kind- 
hearted Jewess, the innkeeper’s wife. Poor Anusia 
had recovered from her swoon ; she lay with wide- 
open eyes, moving her lips, and burying her hands 
wildly in the black masses of her hair, which hung 
about the death-like face. But her mind seemed 
wandering, she gazed absently ; and no words — a 
moaning only fell from her lips, rising to a smothered 
cry at times, and dying away. The women who 
tended her felt their blood run cold with the pity of 


198 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


it — no impassioned speech, no flood of tears, could 
have moved them like that stifled cry, as of a wild 
creature in an agony of pain. Once only she found 
the power of words when the corporal had just 
entered the room — “ Away, whitecoat ! ” she cried. 

But the next moment she raised herself on the 
bench, clasping her hands and holding them out to 
him with piteous entreaty : “ No — stop — hear me ! 
Make him a prisoner — don’t let him go — for the 
merciful Christ’s sake, make him a prisoner ! ” 

She sought to gain her feet, but the women held 
her back gently : “ She is going out of her mind ! ” 
they whispered, awe-struck, making signs to the 
corporal to be gone. He was only too glad to obey, 
quaking with horror, and retreating to the open air. 
Silence had fallen without, and the crowd once 
more prepared to listen to the haggard, grief- 
maddened man, who had once been the gentlest and 
most peace-loving of them all, and whose wife could 
but entreat his meanest enemy now to hold him 
back from lawless deeds. . . . 

“ To come to the point,” Taras was saying, “ the 
most painful part of it all — how did I come to be a 
curse to you, to myself, to all in this place ? It is the 
consequence of an awful mistake ; yet it was not my 
belief itself that was at fault, nor my trust in you, 
but my confidence in others ! 

“ To this day it is my deepest, holiest conviction, 
and I will maintain it with my dying breath, that 
this world is founded on justice. To each of us, I 
hold, God has given a duty to perform, but we have 
our rights also, which others must not infringe. This 
indeed is the staff which the Almighty has given us 
to enable us to bear up under our load. For a 
burden each one has to carry. And for this reason 
no one shall dare to touch his neighbour’s staff, 
or to add unrighteously to his load. For He that 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


199 


dwelleth above has ordered all things wisely, 
adjusting the burden of each man, and weighing it 
in the scales of His equity. The man who dares 
to interfere with this highest justice, sins against 
God’s rule upon earth, and he shall not do so with 
impunity. But the Almighty does not visit every 
deed of wrong with His own arm ; for He will not 
have us look upon justice, or atonement for its 
violation, as on something supernatural, but as on a 
thing essential to this life of ours, like the air we 
breathe. For this reason He has portioned out the 
earth into countries, calling a man to the rulership 
of each, to be judge in His stead, to protect the 
well-doer and to punish the evil-doer. This God- 
appointed man — it is the Emperor with us — has a 
great burden laid on him by the Almighty, but also 
a stronger staff to uphold him than any of ours, the 
Imperial power. Yet the most powerful man is but 
human, and even an emperor has but two eyes to 
see ; and, like the poorest of his subjects, he can only 
be in one place at a time. So he, again, follows the 
divine example, portioning out his great empire 
into districts, appointing a man in each to be judge 
in his stead, and investing him for that purpose 
with some of his power — for since he is to bear part 
of the Emperor’s burden, it is but fair he should 
have part of the Emperor’s staff to strengthen him. 
These men are the magistrates ; and in their turn 
they follow out the example of their master, the 
Emperor, and the higher example of Him above — 
they see that every parish is administered by its 
own judge, yielding to him part of their power to 
guard the right. In like manner every village judge 
behaves to the heads of families. I look upon it as a 
glorious ladder, replete with comfort, uniting earth 
with heaven, and bringing us poor sinful men nearer 
to Him who made us. I say it is glorious, because the 


200 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


proudest intellect could not add anything to its 
perfect goodness ; and I say it is replete with 
comfort, because the very lowest step of this 
ladder is under the same law as the highest. For 
no matter whether I be a shepherd or a king, he 
who wrongs me is committing equal sin, and it is 
the duty of those to whom God has entrusted the 
power to protect the shepherd as though he were a 
king. My duty is to do what is right, and not suffer 
any wrong silently, but to report it to those whom 
God has appointed to protect me. All further 
responsibility must rest with them ! 

“ Such being to this day my holiest conviction, I am 
unable to swerve from my former opinion concerning 
you. You appeared to me like wild beasts, your love 
of avenging yourselves filled me with horror until I 
perceived whence it came ; it was because you had 
not yet been taught to wean yourselves from the 
ways of your ancestors, who, descending from the 
mountains, settled here. They did w T ell to look upon 
their firelocks as the best argument in maintaining 
their rights. For God will have the right respected, 
and the ladder I have spoken of is subservient to it ; 
hut where the influence of that ladder cannot make 
itself felt, as in the far-off mountain districts, the 
power of watching over his own right must return 
to the individual man. God Himself must have so 
willed it, otherwise He would not have peopled those 
outlying haunts. But you, who are within reach of 
the law, continued to act as though God had^ never 
made the provision I have spoken of! It filled me 
with horror unspeakable ; and if your lesser short- 
comings had power to rouse that pride of mine, how 
much more so this offence ! . . . 

“ Many of you will remember my wedding-day, 
and how I was laughed at for being so serious ; but 
I was not sad, only full of thought. I knew that I 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


201 


was about to enter upon an entirely new life, a life 
beset with the most difficult duties. For when I stood 
before the altar I not only married the girl I loved, 
but, if I may so express it, I married this village ; 
and not only to her, but to you also, ay, and to 
J ustice herself, I promised with a sacred oath to be 
faithful unto death. No words of mine could ever 
express what I felt on that day, how my thoughts 
from my own newly-granted happiness would roam 
away to a solemn future. For I knew that all my 
life iu this place would be a falsehood if I did not 
strive with might and main to bring you to accept 
that will of God for yourselves also. . . . On my 
wedding-day ! such a terrible taskmaster was that 
pride of mine ! . . . 

“ I set about it. I soon perceived that I could do 
little unless I had power vested in me — unless I were 
elected to the eldership. But I scorned the idea of 
bringing about that end by despicable means. I 
could only leave it with God — whose kingdom I 
strove to uphold — to guide your minds. And when 
I had been chosen, I directed my every effort to the 
furthering of the glorious end I had in view. 

‘ ‘ That same end was still my desire when the 
new mandatar arrived four years ago. You there 
and then turned against him ; I spoke for him. 
Events have since shown that you were right 
in your antipathy, for he is a wicked man ; but 
you were wrong nevertheless, hating him only be- 
cause he was the mandatar. This dislike of yours 
came to be the test of my influence with you ; for 
those of you whom I could convince that it was 
wrong to hate him because it was his business to 
claim the labour we owed to his master, could learn 
to understand also about that will of God. I did 
succeed with many of you, and the day was at hand 
that should prove it ; for when the mandatar came 
9 * 


202 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


down upon us with his demand, expecting us to 
render the tribute of our live stock to the very day, 
you accepted my view of the question. It was the 
same in the more difficult matter concerning the 
forest labour. I shall never forget what I felt after 
those meetings. ‘Thou God of Justice’ my 
heart kept crying, ‘ these people are learning 
to accept Thy will ! ’ Old Stephen turned from 
me — a real grief — but it could not lessen the 
holy joy I felt. Indeed, that same joy would 
have been mine if those meetings had cost me ” 
— he said it slowly, and with marked emphasis 
— “ the love of my wife, or the welfare of my 
children ! The rupture between me and him was 
irretrievable ; there could be no agreement between 
the village as it had been and the village as it 
should be according to my hopes, and, therefore, 
none between Stephen and me. Even his dying 
words, greatly as they touched me, offered abundant 
proof that his thoughts and mine concerning the 
most sacred things in life had ever been widely 
apart. I did not understand him when he said to 
me, ‘It cannot but end ill when the judge is of 
another caste than the people he is called to rule.’ 
... I believed, on the contrary, that it would 
be an ill thing for Zulawce if the judge, like the 
rest of the people, were given to violence. Now if 
there had been among you a man of a like mind 
with myself, and better than I, I would have 
thought it wrong to seek the judgeship ; but as it 
was, my very conscience laid it upon me to do so. 
I was chosen unanimously, as never a judge before 
me or since. I was glad for myself, and more glad for 
your sakes. There was little danger now, I thought, 
that you should ever fail in your duty to the Count, 
or try to right yourselves by force of arms. That 
the new mandatar was a miserable scoundrel I 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


203 


knew soon enough; it caused me vexation and 
disgust — the kind of disgust one feels in touching 
a toad — but I never for a moment considered it a 
cause of alarm. How should the righteous come 
to suffer in a country where justice prevails ? So I 

never even threatened him ; ay, more than this ” 

He paused as though he had to brace himself up 
for pronouncing the words that must follow. But 
presently he added, “I have to say that which 
hitherto has been utterly unknown to you. Let 
your wrath be upon me, for it furnished the root 
whence all this trouble has sprung. Yet I could 
not have acted differently. It was myself who 
assured the rascal, on his hypocritical inquiry, that 
we should never meet violence with violence ; and 
it was this assurance of mine that gave him the 
courage to wrong us, coward that he is ! ” 

A cry of rage, not unmixed with surprise, burst 
from the assembled men, followed once more by a 
deep silence, when nothing was heard but their ex- 
cited breathing ; they were anxious to hear more, 
and he continued : “ You have a right to be angry ! 
But I also was right in thus speaking to him. And 
the proud confidence whence those words of mine had 
sprung did not forsake me when he dared violence. 
I was more deeply roused than any of you, because 
I loved the right more deeply. But we had need to 
keep our hands pure, both for our own sakes and for 
the dear sake of justice, for the guilt of it all must be 
left with him entirely ; therefore, I staked my very 
life to prevent your having recourse to violence on 
your side. I thanked God that I succeeded ; and 
for the rest of it, it no longer was concern of ours, 
but of the imperial law court. I waited for the 
verdict as never before did human soul wait and 
hunger for the word of man ! and when at last it 
was given — well, if you will take into account my 


204 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


life and the man I am, you will understand that no 
human tongue can describe the indignation which 
possessed me. I was utterly broken, yet not with 
impotent rage, nor yet with my just resentment 
against those miserable weaklings that should have 
righted us — but only with an utter pity for myself. For 
at the very moment when that hunchback creature of 
a clerk made known to us their decision, the convic- 
tion darted through me : ‘ Poor Taras ! if right and 
justice are not to be trampled under foot, you will 
have to become a law-breaker in the sight of men ! ’ — 
I, the happy husband and father, the good, peace- 
loving judge — a law-breaher ! . . . That was 
what smote me down, making me swoon like a 
woman, and for this reason I cried and moaned like a 
child when I returned to consciousness. Still, it was 
at that time only a thought, brooking no gainsaying 
it is true, but there was no resolve about it, still less 
any planning. My mind was overshadowed with the 
thunder-cloud that hung heavy on the inward 
horizon. I had not yet come to consider the ruin 
that lurked in its blackness, and as yet I gazed upon 
it with horror and dismay as upon a thing within the 
range of vision only, hut outside the circle of my 
soul. And once again confidence lifted her head. 
What though the court of the district had failed to 
do right, there were other steps of the ladder beyond ! 
I carried our complaint to the court of appeal at 
Lemberg, hoping and waiting yet again. But not 
with the strong hope of the former waiting ! The 
mind yet clung to it, hut my heart had lost its assur- 
ance. And the cloud remained. It spread more 
and more, forcing me to consider how it would 
break. And then,” — his voice sank to a hoarse 
whisper — “ and then I felt an inward compulsion to 
go hunting in the mountains ... it was there I 
came to see how it would end. . . . 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


205 


“ On returning — it was about this season last 
year — I found the superior court’s verdict. The 
plea was declared to be groundless. I did not 
burst into a rage, I did not even lament ; but I saw 
that the cloud must break. It was due, however, not 
only to me and mine, but even to humanity, once 
again to consult my legal adviser. He mentioned 
the Emperor ; it was only by way of saying some- 
thing, for the poor man, himself helpless in the 
matter, pitied my distress. But that remark lit 
up my night, comforting me greatly ; it sent its 
radiance across the dreary wild in which the stray- 
ing wanderer had vainly been seeking his. home. 
The darkness, the terrors were forgotten, for the 
light of his own hearth had shone forth to guide 
him. I had forgotten that there was one on earth 
whom the matter concerned even more than my- 
self, because God had laid it upon him as a great and 
holy duty ; and I knew now it was my duty to go to 
that man — to appeal to the Emperor. I went to 
Vienna, upborne by a boundless hope ! it gave me 
courage to face the strange country, to face every 
difficulty in my way to reach the ear of Majesty. . . . 

“ But when I had seen him — it required no word 
of his — I knew that my hope was vain. Now, I will 
not have it said of me that I speak unjustly of any 
man ; let me say, therefore, I do not look upon the 
Emperor of Austria as on one who loves wickedness or 
unrighteousness. He is a poor, sickly creature, fond 
of his lathe they say, and he seemed very anxious to 
know about my boots and breeches. That is all ; 
for he is my enemy now, whom I shall have to op- 
pose as long as there is breath in this body, and it 
behoves a man to speak more generously of his 
enemy than of his dearest friend. . . . 

‘ ‘ I returned home as a man who knows what is before 
him, and, recognising his duty, determines that the 


206 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


inevitable shall not find him unprepared. I acted 
accordingly with a sadness unspeakable, abiding the 
imperial decision. Not that I was foolish enough 
to hope it might turn out favourably; but what 
I meditated grew to be right only when the 
Emperor’s refusal had reached me. It would have 
been sin before ! But the time of waiting must not 
be lost. . . . Once again I retired into the 

mountains, endeavouring to make myself at home 
there more and more. . . . 

“ Last night Father Leo transmitted to me the 
final decision. It is unfavourable. I have it much 
at heart that you should understand it is the denial 
in itself and nothing else in the writ that has ripened 
my intention. Some foolish clerk has clothed the 
refusal in unkind words, talking of prison unless I 
submitted. But I know better than to imagine that 
he did so by order of that harmless man, the 
Emperor, who is too good-natured to think of 
hurting a fly. It is not that which moves me. Nay, 
if he had penned it with his own hand I would not 
care a straw about it, any more than I should be 
influenced to the contrary if he were to write : ‘ My 
dear Taras, it grieves me sorely to deny your request ; 
but I am anxious to reward your honest zeal by 
sending you the golden cross with which I decorate 
great heroes.’ I should send back his cross, and 
would proceed with the duty which is before me.” 

As these words were falling from his lips his 
armed companions — Sefko and Jemilian, Wassilj 
Soklewicz and Lazarko Bodakowicz — had ap- 
proached him more closely, standing quite near to 
him now. Their faces were white and quivering 
with emotion, most of all Jemilian’s, who could 
not restrain his tears as he turned to his master, 
handing him his gun. 

“Not yet,” said Taras gently; but he took the 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


207 


weapon, leaning upon it as he continued, distinctly, 
slowly, and solemnly : “ Now listen to me, ye men, 
and all that have come to hear me ! Listen atten- 
tively, that you may be able to repeat my words to 
any that should ask you. A fearful wrong has been 
committed in this village — there has been robbery 
and perjury. I have used every means provided by 
the law to undo it. It has been of no avail. The 
perjured witnesses remain unpunished, and the 
wrongdoer enjoys the benefit of his robbery. Nay 
more — not only have I vainly appealed to the con- 
stituted authorities, the guardians of our right, but 
I have done so to your hurt and mine. I have been 
a curse to the village, because I strove for justice. 
He who loves the right must suffer, and the evil- 
doer flourishes ! 

“ It is incredible, and how should one understand 
it ? Is that fair faith of mine falsehood and 
deception? Is it not true that God has put an 
Emperor over the land, giving him much power, 
that he should see to the right ? Is there no such 
ladder as I have spoken of, binding earth to the 
high courts of heaven ? 

“ Yes — yes, and yes again ! It is so, it must be so 
everywhere where men would dwell in safety ; but 
it is not so with us. In this unhappy place the 
arbitrariness, the unfitness, the carelessness of men 
has counteracted the holy will of God, making the 
wrong victorious ! 

“ What, then, is the consequence for every right- 
seeking man? I have shown that wherever the 
divine institution is powerless, as for instance in 
distant mountain haunts, it is not incompatible with 
the will of God that every man should be the 
guardian of his own right. And how should it be 
otherwise in an unhappy place, where the wicked 
man’s violence is left to trample down the right 


208 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


with impunity? In such a place also the power of 
protecting his life and goods must return to the 
individual man. If there is no Emperor to help 
me, I must help myself ! 

“Hear, then, these three things. Let them he 
repeated from mouth to mouth, that all men shall 
know them who dwell in this unhappy land in 
which justice is not to be found ! 

“ Firstly ! Since the Emperor is not doing his duty 
towards me, I am not bound by my duty towards him. 
And therefore I, Taras Barabola, declare before 
Almighty God and these human witnesses that I 
can no longer honour and obey this Emperor 
Ferdinand of Austria. His will in future is nothing 
to me, I disown and disregard it ; and in all things 
in which hitherto I have acted according to his laws 
I shall henceforth be guided by my own conscience 
solely. Should he cause me to be summoned I shall 
pay no heed; should he despatch his soldiers to 
catch me, I shall defend myself. And since his 
magistrates abuse their power to the furtherance of 
wrong, and he takes no steps to prevent it, I shall 
strive to lessen that power as much as possible, 
waging war upon it wherever I can ! I shall do 
this anywhere, everywhere, while I can lift a hand ! 
Yes, I, Taras Barabola, in the name of Almighty 
God, herewith declare war against the Emperor of 
Austria ! — War ! — War ! ” 

A shriek rose from the people, surprise, horror, 
approval and disgust blending together in a single 
cry, which died away as suddenly and completely as 
though it had been wrung from these hundreds of 
listeners — an involuntary outburst of their mute 
dismay. 

“ Secondly ! Because justice is withheld from us, 
I shall take it by force. I shall oblige the mandatar 
to indemnify the village. Yet this will not be the 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


209 


extent of my duty, but only a beginning. If the 
name of Almighty God is not to be dishonoured in 
this country, there is need of a judge, of an avenger, 
before whom the evil-doer shall tremble and whom 
all good men can trust. And since there appears to 
be no one else for this holy office, I shall undertake 
it, looking upon it as a sacred duty while life shall 
last. I will be a protector to the oppressed in the 
Emperor’s stead, since he is not. And because his 
power is with the wrong-doer, I shall require a 
strong arm to oppose it. 1 shall unfurl my banner 
up yonder in the mountains ; let each and all come 
to me that will serve the right. The wild forest 
which hitherto has been the haunt of lawbreakers 
only, must now be a gathering-place for those that 
honour the law, but to whom justice is dearer. 
There I shall dwell, beyond the reach of any of their 
hirelings. I shall swoop down upon the dwellings 
of men whenever the high calling I have accepted 
requires me to do so, and I shall return thither 
having avenged the wrong.” 

“ A hajdamak ! ” cried Simeon, despairingly. “ Our 
Taras a hajdamak ! ” 

“ Taras a hajdamak ! ” echoed the people, some 
scornfully, some in utter dismay, according to the 
hatred or pity that rose uppermost. 

“ No ! ” cried Taras, a deep flush overspreading 
the pallor of his face. “ God forgive you for insult- 
ing me at this time. A hajdamak is a brigand, but 
I shall be the leader of a band of avengers, and we 
shall fight against every evil-doer — against those 
scoundrels also who go by that name. Let me add, 
now, what in the third and last place I have to say. 
Within a week from this, by Easter Sunday, my 
banner will be unfurled up yonder. Whoever can 
come to me with pure hands, either to inform me 
of a wrong committed, or to join my band, will be 


210 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


able to learn my whereabouts from any honest 
herdsman or bearhunter of the forest. But let him 
consider it well before he becomes a follower of 
mine. If he seek pleasure or lawlessness let him 
not come near me, for our living will be of the 
poorest, and I shall maintain the strictest discipline. 
If he hope for booty let him keep away ; for no 
plundering will be allowed, and with my own hand 
I shall shoot the man who, while following my 
banner, shall dare to touch any man’s goods. Let 
none come to me who can testify to being happy, 
for he that follows me must know that there is no 
returning, that he has separated himself for ever 
from all men dwelling in peace ; he must be ready 
to meet death any day, either in open combat, which 
is a death to be courted, or on the gallows, as 
though he were an evil-doer indeed. It would not 
be thus if men were different, if generosity and 
self-denial were not so rare in the world ; for then 
my banner could be that of open insurrection, en- 
listing all good men against the common foe — the 
wrong to be put down. But this cannot be ; I 
must be satisfied with the possible. 

“And now I pray you to make this known, not 
forgetting to add that Taras Barabola will continue 
this war until he has gained the great end he strives 
for, until that glorious, divine institution is visibly 
established in this land. If I can but succeed, let 
happen to me what may, and though I should have 
to pay for it with my own life, I should meet even 
the felon’s death a victor indeed.” 

He paused, his breast heaving, and then he added, 
with faltering voice : — 

“ And now . . . fare ye well ! Accept my best 
wishes, individually and as a community .... I am 
grateful to those who ever did me a kindness, and 
forgive those who have done me any wrong. . . 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


211 


Be good to my unhappy wife, to my poor little 
children. • . . I leave them here — ah, forsaken 
indeed. ... Pity them, don’t pity me. . . .If you 
will but believe I am not wantonly becoming an 
outlaw that is all I look for. ... It may be the 
last time you see me. . . . May your life be 
happier than mine. . . . Farewell ! ” 

These broken words fell upon so deep a silence 
that they were heard plainly by all that crowd of 
listeners, although his voice had sunk to a whisper, 
quivering with tears. And none dared break the 
silence when he had finished, until, with a sudden 
leap from the table, and surrounded by his com- 
panions, he strove to make a way for himself 
towards the church. 

Then only the sacred awe which held them spell- 
bound was lifted from the souls of these men, yield- 
ing to a commotion unheard of, even among that 
savage people — in their * general assembly ’ at least. 
Every man seemed ready to attack his neighbour ; it 
was a tumult unspeakable, and some time passed 
before one voice succeeded in making itself heard 
above the rest. It was that of the corporal. “ Stop 
him ! ” he roared. “ He is a rebel, I will make him 
a prisoner in the Emperor’s name. You must help 
me, all of you. Jewgeni, what is the good of your 
being judge?” He was not left alone this time, 
some dozen of old soldiers rallying round him. 

But the rest of the men indignantly opposed him. 
“ We are no policemen ! ” chirped the infant voice 
of the herculean smith. “No policemen ! ” echoed 
the people. . . . “ Let him go in peace ! . . . He 
has addressed the general meeting, and has a right 
to go free.” 

“ In the name of the Emperor ! ” reiterated the 
corporal, white with rage, and, snatching a pistol 
from the belt of his nearest neighbour, he pointed 


212 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


it at the men. “ Let me do my duty, or woe to 
your lives ! ” 

“ Woe to yourself ! ” cried Wassilj, the butcher, 
brandishing his axe in the would-be hero’s face ; 
and blood would certainly have flowed had not the 
judge interfered, an unwonted courage coming to 
him from the urgency of the situation. 

“ Do you know this sign?” he cried, thrusting 
his staff of office between them. “ There is power 
vested in it ; this is the general meeting, and I 
command you,- desist ! ” And the combatants 
owned his authority, Wassilj dropping his axe and 
the corporal his pistol. 

Taras, meanwhile, surrounded by his little band, 
attempted to break through the ranks ; it was not 
so easy, for the people pressed round him, 
endeavouring to hold him, and discoursing wildly. 
But far harder to the parting man was the sorrowful 
entreaty of his friends. Alexa Sembrow, the late 
elder, had fallen on his knees before him, his white 
hair framing an agonised face. “ Don’t Taras, for 
God’s sake, don’t do it ! ” he kept repeating, while 
old Simeon bethought himself of another means, 
haply, to stop him. He was pressing to the inn to 
bring hither poor Anusia. Father Leo alone looked 
on with folded arms, his face quivering, his lips 
unable to move. 

He was the only one for whom Taras yet had 
a word ; turning to him with deep emotion, he 
said : “ Forgive me, thou best of friends, forgive 
my silence, and my grieving thee now so sorely. 
Thou hast loved me truly, I know ! ” 

That was too much for Leo ; he lay weeping in 
the arms of his friend. 

“ Alas,” he sobbed, “ what a man is lost in you ! ” 

“Not so ! ” replied Taras, disengaging himself 
gently. “ He who obeys the dictates of his own 


THE PASSION OF JUSTICE. 


213 


true heart cannot be lost, happen what may — at 
least not in the eyes of the just ones. . . He 
turned away, stopping once again : “ Father Leo,” 
he said, below his breath, so that the priest only 
could understand him, “Father Leo, will you 
promise me one thing? ” 

“ Surely. What is it ? About your wife ? ” 
“Nay; I require no promise on her account, for 
I know your heart. It is about — myself — when one 
day — my last hour shall have come — may I send for 
you? Will you come to me — to any place? — no 
matter how terrible it be ? ” 

“ I shall come,” faltered the pope. 

“ Do you pledge me your word ... to any place? ” 
“ Wherever it be.” 

“ Thank you for all your friendship — for this last 
proof most of all. . . .” 

He turned away hastily, whispering to Jemilian, 
“ Are the horses ready ? ” 

“ Yes ; behind the church, as you commanded. 
Young Halko has saddled them, and is waiting your 
orders.” 

“ Then let us be gone.” 

But one more wrench before he could be free. 
The sons of Simeon, Hritzko, and Giorgi, had caught 
his knees. 

“Take us with you,” they cried ; “ we cannot — 
we will not let you go without us ! ” 

“ Get up ! ” he cried, sharply ; and there was no 
gainsaying his voice, hoarse though it was with 
emotion. “ Do you think I am villain enough to ruin 
the sons of my friend ? ” Adding, with a quivering 
smile : “ You are quite incorrigible. What w*as the 
use of my resisting your importunity before ? But 
love me always, and remember me when I am gone. 
You are dear to me. Good-bye ! ” 

He walked away, and none stopped him. Having 


214 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


mounted, he was about to spur his horse, when 
once again his name was called with a shriek so 
heartrending that he shuddered and paused. 

He knew who was calling him. His unhappy 
wife was standing outside the inn, looking after him 
with despairing eyes. She would have fallen to the 
ground had not old Simeon supported her trembling 
figure. 

“ Farewell ! ” faltered Taras ; but the sound did 
not reach her, falling dead at his own feet as it 
were. 

He could but wave his hand, and, spurring his 
horse mercilessly, the creature dashed away in a 
maddened gallop, his men following ; and the little 
band vanished in the mysterious shadows of the 
fir-covered uplands. 


CHAPTER X. 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 

T HERE is a strange legend concerning the origin 
of the Carpathians, which, now towering 
abruptly, now rising in gentler lines, form a mighty 
wall of separation between the rich lowlands where 
the Theiss flows and that vast plain, of heath- 
country diversified with fertile tracts, stretching 
away southward beyond the Pruth into Roumania. 
To those blue-green domes cling the gathering clouds, 
and sailing away thence they burst in storms of 
rain upon the Magyar or upon the Ruthen, as the 
capricious winds may list ; and in those forest- 
haunts the rivers rise which come down from the 
heights, headlong at first and wondrousiy clear, 
but flowing wearily as they reach the plain. The 
dwellers round about differ in race and tongue ; but 
they look to the mountains as to a common centre, 
where the weather is born, and whence the water is 
given for the lowlands ; and common to all is that 
quaintest of legends, whether Slav, or Magyar, or 
Roumanian — a legend crudely imagined, but not 
without a meaning of its own, however fancifully 
expressed. 

There was a good old time, the people will tell 
you, at the beginning of things, when the earth was 
a fair garden, a fertile plain, with pleasant groves 
here and there, and gentle hills. There were no 


216 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


mountains, no ravenous beasts, no thunder storms, 
no bursting waters, and the people were of one race 
and tongue. Men were happy in those far-off times 
— tilling the soil, and living on the fruits of this 
beautiful plain. And God would visit the garden 
He had made, and bless the children of men. But 
these foolish people were not content, and, uniting 
in their pride, they clamoured for golden harvests 
without previous toil ; in punishment whereof the 
Lord Goa ceased to visit them, confounding their 
language so that they could no longer clamour in 
common, and permitting, moreover, a mighty 
barrier to be raised between them — the great Car- 
pathians — to separate them into different tribes. 

For the enemy of men was sent to raise the 
mountains, and to make them terrible withal. The 
heaving earth burst upward, and there were peaks 
and crags to frown at the discontented race. The 
evil one took seven days to shape the Carpathians, 
beginning on a Sunday, on which he heaped up the 
most towering parts, and finishing off with the 
lesser Carpathians on the seventh day when his 
power was nearly spent ; that was Saturday, for 
which reason no doubt this part has always been a 
dwelling-place of Jews. 

The mountain range of seven divisions, as is 
plainly to be seen, was of awful aspect, since the 
devil had the making of them : not a tree or green 
thing would grow to clothe the riven rocks and the 
peaks he had raised to spread terror upon the once 
smiling plain. For the Lord God had been wroth 
with men. 

But there was One in heaven, the good Saviour, 
who prayed His Father not to be angry for ever, but 
to let Him add beauty to the mountains which the 
evil one had made for the punishment of men. 

He went, and at His touch the whole range was 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


217 


changed, not losing its dread gloominess, yet gaining 
a wondrous beauty over and above. For the Saviour 
with His pitiful hand covered the bare mountains 
with the grandest forests ever seen, surrounding 
the rocks with spreading verdure, and planting 
flowers at their feet. He made waters to spring in 
every glen, and cascades leap from the crags ; and 
though wolves and hears went prowling, He created 
sheep and the dappled deer to browse in the sylvan 
haunts. And ever since, the people will tell you, 
the Carpathians have had a beauty of their own, but 
with terror combined. 

It is hardly to he imagined how a man would feel 
who, by some magic, were to find himself suddenly 
transplanted into the heart of these mountains. 
For unmoved he could not he, were his perceptions 
never so blunted; a sensation of awe would steal 
upon him with something of wonder and dismay. 
Nay, such a feeling must come upon any wanderer 
ascending step by step from the lowlands, though 
the gradual rise would prepare him in a measure 
for the weird grandeur and stern beauty unrolling 
before his eyes. 

To such a one the range at first would appear as 
a gigantic ridge of clouds heaped up on the horizon, 
but differing in hue according to the time of day ; 
of a bluish black in the morning, they fade into 
shades of grey, transparently pale in the full daylight, 
till the sinking sun suffuses them with a crimson 
blush, and they continue shining through the long 
twilight like a wall of fire at the far end of the 
dusky plain. But the following morning those same 
shapes are black again, and all the darker if the air 
he clear — a wall of towering density jutting its pin- 
nacles into the ethereal blue. 

They seem approaching, but the vast plain is 
delusive ; they are yet miles away. The landscape, 
10 


218 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


however, has left monotony behind, growing more 
changeful at every turn. The moorland has disap- 
peared, with its sedgy pools, instead of which there 
is an abundance of rivulets, growing more limpid 
and more headlong as you proceed ; for you are 
ascending steadily, your horizon enlarging. Corn- 
fields are few and far between, wheat making room 
for the more hardy oats ; while all about you there 
are great tracts of brownish uplands, where juniper 
bushes are plentiful and the heather will burst into 
sheets of bloom. Villages are becoming scarce — mere 
hamlets, too poor for a manor house, too poor 
almost for a church, and with cottages of the 
humblest, the public-house alone retaining its un- 
desirable dimensions. Orchards are no longer to be 
seen, but beech woods increase ; the forest encloses 
you, and soon even the beech is crowded out by the 
fir. The sky, wherever it appears through the 
jagged branches, is of a deeper blue, for there are 
no misty vapours here as in the lowlands ; but the 
air is filled with a strange, crisp perfume, the 
resinous exhalations of pine wood. Every sense 
thus is alive to the change of scenery, and if you 
are a lover of your lowland home, despite its dreari- 
ness, you will be overtaken by a haunting sensation 
of fear of the unknown world you have entered. 

But emerging from the pine wood presently, and 
looking back from the height you have gained, the 
very plain behind you has assumed another aspect, 
a strange loveliness enwrapping it. The old homely 
expanse is aglow with an emerald hue— a giant 
meadow seemingly — streaked with the silver of its 
flowing waters ; a shining greensward, the brighter 
for its cottages ; and far yonder, where the blue of 
the heavens seems mingling with the green of the 
earth, your own dwelling perchance, a fair jewel in 
a radiant setting. 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


219 


But the far-off wall, with its towering blackness ? 

It has resolved itself magically. To your right and 
to your left, and above you, there are round-domed 
mountains and bolder peaks rising atop of one 
another to an immeasurable height. That path up 
the pine wood has brought you into the heart of the 
Carpathians, and their strange beauty, weird and wild 
and unspeakably mysterious, is upon you suddenly. 

Yet monotony is even here ; the world seems a 
sea of swaying pines, and the eye has nothing to 
rest it from the gloomy green save the sky, vast 
and blue. The heart grows lonely and wistful, but 
scarcely attuned to tender thoughts as amid the 
voices of the plain. The spell of the forest wilds is 
upon it, bracing it up to its own sterner kind. 
Resistless and tossing, each torrent dashes through 
its rocky glen, breaking into clouds of spray about 
the boulders, and mantling the young pines in a 
shower of shining drops. And from the forest deeps 
strange music is heard of groaning branches and 
whispering tree tops, now wild and solemn, now 
murmuring as in dreams, never ceasing, but going 
on for ever like the song of the sea. And as you 
listen you are caught in a trance, and drawn deeper 
still into the witching region. Nature here does not 
captivate by little gifts and graces ; but, having 
looked at you once with eyes of kindling beauty, 
wild, weird, and awful, you worship at her feet. 

It is a charm both chaste and powerful, and, • 
having known it once, you seek to know more. But 
not many are admitted to that delight, which is 
still reserved for the few — even as in the days w r hen 
Taras Barabola repaired up yonder to unfurl his 
banner. Yet occasionally some lover of the wilder 
aspects of nature will quit the shores of the Theiss 
or the Pruth to seek entrance into the enchanted 
regions of that unknown world. The forest wilds of 


220 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


the Welyki Lys to this day are given over to bears, 
hajdamaks, and Huzuls, and the lowland folk aver 
that there is little to chose between either. But 
that is a libel. 

Even a bear up yonder is as good-natured as a 
bear can be, not having made the closer acquaint- 
ance of man. A hunter by nature, he hates being 
hunted, and grows surly in consequence ; nay, it 
must be owned that in the more inhabited parts 
he has quite lost his native bonhomie, growing 
cunning and spiteful, robbing more than his need, 
and killing for mere blood-thirstiness. Not so, 
however, up among the wilds. He is lord in 
possession there ; behaving, accordingly, with a pride 
of his own, and not without generosity. Of course 
he will have his daily tribute, and fetches it too — 
now from this fold, now from that : but the 
shepherds and herdsmen quite understand this. 
There is no help against the lord of the soil, they 
say ; but the bear, on the whole, is at least a conve- 
nient landlord, fetching himself what he wants, and 
not expecting you to carry it after him. Not 
fiercely as a robber, therefore, nor stealthily as a 
thief, but leisurely and with dignity, Master Bruin 
arrives at the pen, picks out his victim — the sheep, 
goat, or calf which takes his fancy — and walks away 
with it as quietly and unconcernedly as he came. 
And he behaves most fairly, not oppressing one 
unfortunate subject more than another, but visiting 
in succession all the pens and folds within a certain 
radius of his lair ; so that he may be looked for at 
pretty regular intervals. The herdsmen have an 
idea that he acts from a positive sense of justice ; 
while others, less credulous, are of opinion that the 
bear of the Carpathians is a great walker, and thus 
naturally finds himself now in this quarter, now in 
that, turning to the nearest sheep-fold when it is 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


221 


time for his dinner. That the queer biped he meets 
occasionally might also serve him for a meal, he 
generously ignores. If he falls in with a herdsman, 
he gives a growl : “With your leave, brother, there 
is room for us both.” He growls too, though 
more angrily, on meeting any stranger, but rarely 
thinks it worth while to attack him ; and if he 
comes across any one asleep he will have a sniff at 
him, hut without a thought of hurting. 

While the wolf, that low, ugly creature, is hated 
and hunted down everywhere, a strange feeling of 
respect prevents any native of the upper mountains 
from killing a bear. “The poor little father has 
none too easy a life of it,” they say, “and it is 
not well to murder an honest fellow.” There is a 
tale preserved in the forest of an Englishman who 
once arrived there with the notion of bear-hunting. 
But although he had muskets of wrought silver, and 
held them out as presents to any who would help 
him, not many were found wicked enough to join 
in the chase. “Indeed,” say the people, “ all who 
went were frozen to death, the bad Englishman 
first and foremost. It served him right for wishing 
to hunt the poor little father.” The very outlaw, 
the homeless hajdamak, shares this feeling ; and 
hunting for the pleasure of it, whatever he falls in 
with in the lower forest regions, he acts peaceably 
in the upper haunts. “ We go shares with the bear 
up here,” he says, “ and he behaves well to us.” 

The Huzul also, that hybrid of Slavonic and 
Mongolian blood, who lives up yonder as a 
herdsman, hunting the wolf and the deer, and tilling 
such bits of ground as he can, is not nearly so bad 
as he is believed to be by his betters in the 
lowlands. His one great vice is an ingrained want 
of morality, his own share, handed down from his 
fathers, of original sin. 


222 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


His ancestors, drifting away from the great wave 
of migration, unused to a settled home and personal 
property, knew neither Christianity nor the wedded 
estate. Their descendant has accepted all these fetters 
of lawlessness, but he wears them lightly, according 
to his nature. He has submitted to a settled dwell- 
ing, having a hut of his own, but he will not live in it 
except when he cannot help himself. From the time 
the snow begins to melt, until it lies again mountains 
deep for seven months in the year, the Huzul moves 
about with his cattle from pasture to pasture, from 
glen to glen, as though driven, not only by outward 
necessity, but also by a mysterious inward need. 
While the world is green — winter to him being the 
black time — he is never long on the soil of his own 
property. He must return at times to till his field, 
to sow and reap his oats — the hardest and most 
unwelcome of labour ; he must do it, else he would * 
die for want of food, but he never thinks of adding 
to his wealth by means of agriculture. Every lamb 
rejoices his heart, and he is proud of his foals ; but if 
he enlarges his oat-field, it is only because of the 
downright necessity of meeting his wants, and 
nothing beyond. 

Neither is he greatly advanced in his notions of 
personal property. To be sure there are certain 
fields, and pastures, and flocks, belonging to certain 
settlements, these consisting of three or four, 
sometimes even of ten or twelve families of the 
same kindred, and united under one head who rules 
by birthright. This chief appoints the sowing of 
the fields and the management of the sheep, but 
not a grain of oats, nor solitary lambkin belongs 
to him any more than to another. It is all 
common property. Indeed, there are even pastures 
and flocks which are the joint property of several 
settlements, so that a single lamb may happen to 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


223 


belong to several hundred owners. Such property 
is managed, and the proceeds are allotted at 
the meeting of the married men, who, though of 
different settlements, are yet related to one another; 
for such common ownership always springs from the 
fact that their forefathers formed one family, which, 
growing too large, had divided for want of space. 
There is no personal property then, save wearing 
apparel and arms; everything else belongs to the 
family, which means to the clan. The student of 
political economy, it will be seen, could enrich his 
knowledge among the Huzuls ! 

They are no favourites with the clergy. They are 
Catholics to be sure, of the Greek Church, but a 
good deal of their ancestors’ heathenism has sur- 
vived, and their lowland neighbours say of them 
that a cat is as good a Christian as they when 
she crosses her paws. They take care to have their 
children christened in the name of some saint, and 
they know that there is a God Almighty living up 
yonder with the Virgin Mary and their Son, and 
that there are lots of angels and devils, and of 
saints no end. This is the extent of their catechism, 
except, perhaps, that some few can repeat the 
Lord’s Prayer after a fashion. There is no help- 
ful pastor to feed these poor sheep, showing them 
the comfort they require as much as any. For they 
also are part of the groaning creation struggling 
with the sore riddle of existence, and their sense of 
helplessness is the greater because their lot is cast 
amid supremest hardships, leaving them too often 
the prey of the blind forces of nature. As much, 
then, 'as any of the striving children of men they are 
in need of the assurance that there is a Compassion 
more than human ; but who is there to tell them 
the good news ? 

There are popes in the distant villages whose 


224 


EOR THE RIGHT. 


nominal parishioners they are. “ Why do they not 
come to church, then? ” Innocent question ! The 
journey would take several days, even if they re- 
membered they would be welcome. But since there 
is nothing to remind them of the far-off church 
and pope, how should they remember ? And so 
Christianity to them has resolved itself into the 
legendary knowledge of the heavenly household, 
a poor, useless knowledge, although the Huzul 
does his best to grasp the idea of the Godhead, 
clothing it in his own image. The Almighty to his 
perception is a just Huzulean patriarch, something 
like Hilarion Bosenko dwelling by the “Black 
Water ; ” the Virgin Mary a kindly housewife ; 
and Christ, the Saviour, a great, noble hunter, 
whom the spiteful hajdamaks killed for entering 
their domain. They don’t quite understand why 
the popes should keep talking about this Saviour as 
though He were alive still; for if He is, why 
does He not show Himself among the mountains ? 
But besides this “Christian” belief, they keep 
up the institution of those shining divinities wor- 
shipped by their ancestors of old — the sun, the 
moon, and the host of stars. These, happily, can 
be seen, and their blessings felt — the light and the 
warmth they shed upon the darksome wilds. But 
who shall save them from the powers of evil about 
them ; from the stormy whirlwind rushing through 
the forests, uprooting the strongest trees and 
sweeping away the sheltering roof of their home- 
stead ? Who shall help them against the wicked 
sprites whose gambols produce snowdrifts, burying 
men and cattle ? or who protect them from the evil 
witch stealing about in the gloaming with sickness 
in her train ? For they are surrounded with uncanny 
beings of whom they know nothing save the ill- 
effects they feel, and they know hut one means of 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


225 


pacifying them — as one pacifies an ill-natured neigh- 
bour, by occasional bribery. 

These strangest of Christians and dwellers of the 
mountain wilds even manage to die without the 
pope’s assistance. When some aged pilgrim lies at 
the point of death on the couch of bear and sheep- 
skins they have spread for him, neither he nor his 
people give a thought to the ghostly shepherd of 
the nearest manse. What would be the use, indeed, 
if they did think of him, since it would take him 
at least nine days to come and return ? so it is 
out of the question, and it is as well that neither 
the dying man nor his weeping relatives miss the 
spiritual comfort. One of them says the Lord’s 
Prayer, adding some other mystic charm with 
which these poor people strive to pacify the divini- 
ties they believe in, the sufferer repeats the words 
with his dying breath and expires without anxiety 
on that score. When the corpse has stiffened, they 
bury it beneath some forest tree, cutting a great 
cross into the bole, not forgetting some mysterious 
signs to its right and left “for the other gods,” 

If, then, they manage even to die without the aid of a 
parish priest, it is scarcely to be wondered at if they 
do not need him to tie the nuptial knot. When any 
man and woman among them, generally of riper 
years, have agreed to spend their future days in com- 
mon, this is a matter, they think, which concerns no 
one beyond themselves except the heads of their 
settlements, who never withhold their blessing 
unless the bridal pair should happen to be of differ- 
ent settlements at variance at the time about some 
bit of property or act of violence. If such is not 
the case the wedding is fixed upon forthwith, and 
word is sent over the mountains : “ Come to the 
homestead of Marko, on such and such a day, when 
long-legged Sefko will take curly Magdusia to wife.” 


10 * 


226 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


And everybody is sure to come, bringing little gifts of 
kindness, and taking their fill of the schnaps which 
the heads of the settlements have procured in 
exchange for some sheep in honour of the guests. 
And when the last drop has been consumed, 
Sefko and Magdusia are looked upon as married, 
which does not always imply a change in the place 
of abode of either of them. 

As for the pope’s blessing, it is not disregarded on 
principle, since even the other gods are remembered; 
only there is no hurry. Sefko has no idea that 
Magdusia, in order to be his really, must be given 
to him by the pope, and so he takes his time about 
it, presenting himself for the blessing when oppor- 
tunity offers, maybe the christening of their first 
offspring. If the pope be at all zealous he will, of 
course, lecture them on their want of morality, the 
pair listening submissively, but never understanding 
what should have roused the good man’s ire, or 
displeased the Almighty, as he tells them. As for 
the infant, it is considered to belong to its mother’s 
settlement, growing up to the same rights as any 
other youth. 

For the rest, the Huzul shares in all the virtues 
and vices of uncivilised humanity : he is free from 
envy, candid, brave, and hospitable, but also coarse 
in his tastes and cruel. The Emperor’s magistrates 
are nothing to him, he does not need their protec- 
tion ; and of his free-will he is not likely to pay any 
tax. Let his cousins of the lowlands do that, 
whom he pities and despises accordingly. 

Of a similar kind are his feelings concerning the 
homeless hajdamaks ; he, the native of the mountains, 
looking upon the outlaws much as the bear is supposed 
to look upon man; and, in consequence, actual enmity 
between them is rare. Not unless he were really 
starving with hunger or cold would a hajdamak ever 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


227 


think of attacking even a single herdsman up yonder, 
a last remnant of generosity preventing him from 
wronging those on whose soil he dwells, and who, as 
he hut too well knows, could take grievous revenge 
any moment. Not in the memory of men, there- 
fore — which is the only source of authentic history 
within the mountains — has it ever happened that a 
band of outlaws dared an attack upon any settle- 
ment. 

But if the Huzul has little to fear from the hajda- 
maks, he may yet get into trouble on account of them, 
that is, by means of the Whitecoats who are after 
those ruffians. The Huzul considers it incumbent 
on him to hate the soldiers ; for are they not the 
servants of a power he refuses to recognise ? But 
that power will lay hold of him if it can. There is 
no help for the Emperor — he must just put up with it 
— if the Huzul refuses to consider himself a taxpayer ; 
some Imperial exciseman, however, may see his 
opportunity of paying the Huzuls a visit under cover 
of the military. “ Hang the hajdamaks ! ” groans 
the Huzul, “ but for them no confounded exciseman 
would have ventured up hither; ” and, overpowered 
with the thought of his loss in lambs and sheep, he 
is sure to add : “ Hang the Whitecoats ! I wish the 
hajdamaks could teach them a lesson and make them 
keep clear of the mountains for ever.” He is so 
wrathful, indeed, that he could scarcely tell which of 
the two he would like to see hanged first. 

A strict neutrality, however, is the outcome. He 
would rather die than betray to the Whitecoats the 
hiding place of “ Green Giorgi ” ; at the same time 
he has no idea of warning the outlaw of his enemy’s 
approach, or of rendering him any assistance what- 
ever. He just looks on ; and nothing would please 
him better than that the belligerent parties, like 
the fighting lions of the fable, should de vour each 


228 


FOB THE BIGHT. 


other bodily. And there are other considerations, 
besides, inviting him to neutrality. He knows that 
there are ruffians among the hajdamaks whom, even 
with his notions of honour and justice, he cannot 
possibly approve of ; but they are a mixed lot, and 
there are others among them who have done nothing 
a Huzul would despise. And since it is not written 
in a man’s face why he has become an outlaw, the 
Huzul behaves alike to them all, neither loving them 
nor hating them, but holding aloof strictly. 

The Imperial authorities, then, cannot expect the 
Huzuls’ help against the bandits, and need not fear 
their making common cause with them ; but that is 
all, since no one ever lifts a finger to raise the poor 
dwellers of the mountains and teach them a higher 
standard of right and wrong. It were quite useless 
to expect any better ; and if regiment upon regiment 
were let loose upon the Carpathians no lasting result 
could be looked for ; for to give chase to any outlaw 
in the vast forests is as hopeless as to seek for a par- 
ticular insect-in a cornfield. The lawless trade will 
not die out till Civilisation takes up her abode in the 
mountain wilds, taming the dwellers therein ; and, if 
unable to make better men of them, preparing the 
way at least for her nobler sister, even Justice her- 
self, in whose fair sight men are equals, and oppres- 
sion shall not stand. 

It would be a mistake, however, to imagine 
that all hajdamaks are criminals and cut-throats ; 
a distinction must be made. There is no exact 
rendering for the word itself in any of the western 
tongues, and, fortunately, the thing also lies 
beyond the experience of happier nations. The 
Bulgarians only have a similar word, denoting a 
similar existence, the “hajdamak” of the Carpa- 
thians and the “ hajduk ”of the Balkan being akin, 
both revealing in strangest blending some of the 


fro THE MOUNTAINS. 


229 


best and some of the very worst impulses of a suffer- 
ing people. It is not easy, therefore, to judge fairly. 

There are three distinct types among these outlaws, 
or “free men” as they call themselves. Firstly, 
there are those who have escaped from the arm of 
justice, having committed some crime, and who are 
not only guilty in the sight of the law, but of ill 
repute even among their kind. These men never 
unite in great numbers, their own wickedness ren- 
dering them distrustful of one another. Singly, or 
at most by twos and threes, they will pursue their 
villainous trade of waylaying travellers, or perpetrat- 
ing what robbery they can. They avoid open fight, 
being best protected by their cunning. 

Secondly, and far more numerous, are those who 
are criminals indeed in the eye of the law, but are 
looked upon by the people as martyrs to their cause. 
Some may have fought the tax-gatherers in bitter 
despair when they were about to be sold up ; they 
may have been good and peaceful men, who thus sud- 
denly took up the evil life. But, terrible as existence 
may be in the forest wilds, it is better than prison , and 
the unhappy man flies thither from the wrong he 
has committed almost in spite of himself. “ He is 
gone after the sun,” say his neighbours, glad to know 
him safe when the constables seek him — gone west- 
ward, that is, from lowland Podolia into the Carpa- 
thians. And others there are, martyrs to the sad 
relation between the Polish landlord and the Ruthen 
peasant ; the landlord oppressing, till at some dark 
moment of wrath or drunkenness the peasant 
snatches up his gun or hatchet. There are deser- 
ters, too, from the Emperor’s colours, sympathised 
with cordially ; for what right should the Emperor 
have, argue these people, to levy the life-tax among 
them ! 

“ Come join us, ye men, for life here is sweet ! ” 


230 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


are the words of a hajdamak song. But in truth it 
is an awful existence, although the miserable fellows 
do their best to make it bearable to one another. 
They will gather in hands of a score or more, plight- 
ing their troth, each sharing with the other the 
good things which are of the fewest and the ill 
things that abound. The Huzul will leave them 
alone, and the Whitecoats they need scarcely fear. 
But it is nowise easy to he an “ honest hajdamak ” 
when hunger and cold pursue them — for they have 
notions of honesty of their own, as old Jemilian 
suggested in his report to Father Leo. It is 
“ honest ” in an outlaw not to commit mere vulgar 
robbery, or take life save in self-defence or for 
revenge. He may rob a Polish landlord or the men 
of the law, but he would be disgraced by robbing a 
peasant or a village pope. It is quite “ honest ” to 
stop a stage-coach, empty the postbags, and rob any 
Polish or Austrian passenger ; but it would be dis- 
graceful to inquire what money a pope might carry 
with him, travelling by the same coach. There was 
a time when no stage-coach in those parts could be 
safe from an attack of hajdamaks, unless accom- 
panied by a strong escort of soldiers. “Great 
deeds,” however, grew more and more impossible, 
and indeed they were never easy. It was always a 
miserable life in the dreary wilds, without shelter in 
the rigorous winter-time, and often without food. 
And it would entirely depend on what manner of 
man the ‘ hetman * (captain) was, as to how a band 
would bear up through such a season of distress ; 
whether “dishonesty” would be had recourse to, 
when for the gaining of a mere livelihood they 
would sink to the level of the despised criminal, or 
whether their spirit would rise to some “great 
deed ” of despair, even if it must bring them to 
close quarters with the Whitecoats. But this second 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


231 

alternative, as a rule, might only be looked for if the 
* hetman * was a hajdamak by deliberate choice, 
driven to the life for an idea rather than as the 
outcome of some crime. 

Men of this kind form the third class ; they have 
always been rare, and the history of one adopting 
the awful trade of his own free will has ever made 
a stir. Mere love of pillage could never be an 
adequate reason; for a man of this description is 
aware that he can rob his neighbours with less 
trouble in the plain. No, there are nobler motives — 
a wild passionate manliness rising against oppres- 
sion, or a yearning indignation and pitiful sympathy 
with the helpless despair of the people, will urge some 
few to “go after the sun.” These few are the 
last representatives of the true hajdamak, who is 
fast becoming a legend of the past. The Ruthens, 
now the most peaceful and the most oppressed of 
Slavonic tribes, at one time were the boldest and 
most belligerent of the race, the terror of theii 
neighbours, Poles, Russians, and Roumanians. 
But to-day one could only wonder why these 
people in song and story should always be desig- 
nated as “ falcon-faced,” if indeed such a face were 
not met with among them occasionally even now — 
bold and clear-cut, full of energy and passion, with 
dark daring eyes. And as the type is found still, so 
are the old dauntless courage, and the ardent love of 
liberty. But he who preserves the true nature is 
lonely among his kind, and the misery about him 
will fill his soul with a bitter yearning for the times 
that are gone, the times surviving only in their 
songs — wild passionate outbursts, full of bravery and 
fortitude, sounding strangely enough on the lips of 
the humbled, labouring peasants. And such a 
one by his own inward necessity is driven forth 
from the plain ; he takes to the mountains, and 


232 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


henceforth it is his one desire to make war upon 
the Polish oppressors, the murderers of his race. 
It is his one idea, his one resolve ; and being a man 
of energy and power, he will naturally rise to the 
leadership of a band. He is an “ honest hajdamak ” 
at first, but does not always end so ; for it is an 
evil trade, hurtful to body and soul. And whether 
they remain “honest,” or fall away from the higher 
aspiration, they are sure to end ill — they and their 
followers. 

Truly an evil trade, and few taking to it ever 
reach old age ; the pitiless cold, or hunger and hard- 
ships of grimmest kind decimating the band, 
while the more hardy ones fall a prey to the wild 
beasts, if not brought to the gallows instead. And 
whatever their end may be, their people are anxious 
that their memory should be wiped out — anxious it 
should be forgotten that one of theirs took to the 
mountains. A hajdamak while he lives is held in 
some respect, inasmuch as he has gained the liberty 
sighed for by others — the dead man is nowhere. 

But among the numbers living and dying thus 
sadly, there are three whose names are not forgotten, 
whose memory lives in song and tale, though 
dimmed with the haze of receding years; three 
who are famous, moreover, as being the only 
“ hetmen ” who moved the Huzuls to take part for 
or against them. 

The first of these was one Alexander Dobosch, 
called the Black, or the Iron-framed, a Ruthen from 
the Bukowina who arose towards the end of the 
eighteenth century, and for several years was far 
more powerful throughout Pokutia than the Em- 
peror. He had been a well-to-do peasant, and a 
boundless ambition only appears to have led him to 
his strange and fearful adventures. The Huzuls 
adored him, and he behaved like a king of the 


TO THE MOUNTAINS. 


233 


mountains, issuing manifestos to the “fellow at 
Vienna,” making laws and levying taxes. But this 
was his ruin ; the Huzuls were not going to con- 
done in the iron-framed hajdamak what they had 
never approved of in the “fellow at Vienna.” 
Their devotion gave way to wrath, but the man 
was so powerful that they dared not oppose him 
openly. He was poisoned by some of his followers 
at a drinking bout. 

Of a different type was “Wild Wassilj,” or, as 
song has it, the “ great hajdamak,” a Podolian 
peasant youth, lithe as a sapling pine, strong as a 
bear, and daring as a falcon. He had been in the 
personal service of a young noble, the brother-in- 
law of the lord of the manor, both of whom were the 
terror and detestation of every father and husband 
in the neighbourhood. But Wassilj suddenly set 
his face against the lawless life, growing strangely 
silent and anxious to be good ; the fact was he loved 
an honest maiden of the village. But, unhappily, 
his master himself had set eyes upon the girl, and, 
finding her proof against his advances, he carried her 
off with the help of some menials. Wassilj thereupon 
waylaid and shot him, forming a band there and 
then, and becoming the scourge of the nobility for 
miles around, his thirst for revenge being unap- 
peasable. It was found in those days how little it 
availed to send out soldiers with a hope of crush- 
ing the bandits in their mountains. The “ great 
hajdamak ” was not vanquished by anything the au- 
thorities could devise against him ; but the innate 
spark of goodness in his wild and wayward heart 
overcame him in the end. For he was not a bad 
man by nature, and the remorse that would 
seize upon him was as poignant as it was true ; 
but he quieted his conscience with the delusion 
that he was doing these terrible things for the 


234 


FOR THE RIOHT. 


sake of the suffering people. One day, however, 
when he had overpowered some nobles in the castle 
of his native village, and had called upon the judge 
to assist him in bringing them to their just doom, 
the latter refused, saying he was an honest man, 
and could not join in the evil work of a cut-throat. 
That word struck Wassilj to the heart, and the 
same night, with a bullet from his own gun, he 
stilled that misguided heart for ever. 

But the third one, whom the Huzuls assisted 
— he whom in song they called “ the good judge ” 
and “ the great avenger ” — was Taras Barabola. 


CHAPTER XI. 

OUTLAWED. 


T HE “ good judge ! ” . . . the “ great 

avenger ! ” . . . 

It was not only after his death, not in commemo- 
rating song only, that Taras was first so designated. 
These appellations dated from the spring-time of 
1839. When Palm Sunday had come and gone 
they were echoed from mouth to mouth, while the 
strange declaration of war that had been uttered 
beneath the linden of Znlawce was fresh in the 
minds of all. His mission was believed in, though 
as yet unaccredited by deed. As on the wings of a 
mighty wind the news sped from village to village, 
from district to district. Not a week passed before 
all the people had heard it — in Pokutia, in the 
Marmaros, in Podolia, and in the Bukowina ; and 
gathering in groups after the morning service on 
Easter Sunday, it was the one topic with them 
everywhere : “ To-day Taras will be unfurling his 

banner. . . . Could there be a surer proof of our 
misery? He, a Christ-like mau, and yet driven to 
turn hajdamak! . . But it is well for us — Tar as has 
ever been a good judge, and he will prove a mighty 
avenger ! ” 

This opinion had formed rapidly. A whole 
people stirred to its depth is almost always a righteous 
judge, a true prophet. Every man and woman 


236 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


understood that unheard-of things were passing. 
True, it was within the experience of most of them 
that some one or other had taken to the mountains ; 
but such volunteers to the desperate trade had 
been young fellows without home ties, or men of 
a turbulent character breaking away from the 
restraints of the law. But how different with this 
peace-loving peasant, who had everything to make 
his home attractive, this man who once pointed 
a pistol at his own forehead to prevent violence 
from being met with violence ! That phrase of 
Mr. Broza’s which Taras himself had repeated 
reluctantly, and only because he was a “ dying 
man,” had taken hold of the people’s imagination — 
a Christ-like man. And truly there was a breath 
of the Divine sweeping the senses of the oppressed 
peasantry as they strove to understand his motives. 
It could not be the love of revenge with him, for 
he had not been wronged personally ; it could not 
be that he sought to defend his own property, for it 
had not been touched. He must be doing it, then, 
simply because “ in this unhappy country justice 
was not to be found,” and “ because the people had 
sore need of one to avenge them.” And if there is 
anything that will move the heart of man to its in- 
most depth, filling it with holy reverence, it is the 
unselfish deed done for love of a cause which is 
sacred to all and believed in by each. 

With similar enthusiasm Taras was greeted in 
the mountains. The rude men who dwell there 
had been gained so thoroughly during his former 
sojourn, that one and all they welcomed the news of 
his returning to be among them for good. Was 
he not a victim of the oppression they hated? 
its sworn enemy, who henceforth would live to 
oppose it ? Every glen on either side of the 
Black Water was alive with sympathy, and Taras 


OUTLAWED. 


237 


had a staunch ally in every man far and wide in 
the forest. 

In his own village, too, opinion had rallied round 
him entirely, though it would have been difficult to 
say whether this was due chiefly to the impression 
he had made upon his hearers on that Sunday, or to 
the selfish vanity of the people. The hearts of some 
had certainly been touched, and a natural pity for 
his forsaken wife roused others ; while others, again, 
were merely glad that Taras had come to see the folly 
of trusting in the law, and it flattered their pride 
that from among themselves an avenger should rise 
who would make the country ring with his valour. 
A man of Zulawce in those days was welcome 
wherever he went, because he could tell of the hero 
of the^hour. The people round about seemed to be 
insatiable of news concerning this Taras, and were 
ready to stand any amount of drink to him who could 
gratify them, for which reason the men of Zulawce, 
nothing loth, invented story upon story to glorify 
the pure-hearted man whose life they had em- 
bittered all along. Yes, the outlaw once more had 
risen to be the great favourite of his adopted 
village. 

Yet there were few, even in his own village, who 
felt for him truly or mourned his loss, and the one 
man whose sorrow was most deeply sincere carefully 
avoided the very mention of his name. The 
good pope had not breathed a word concerning 
Taras since that saddest of partings beneath the 
linden. His wife only guessed how he suffered, but 
even she was mistaken in believing that his heart 
ached for the loss of his friend alone. He was 
battling with another sorrow, a deeper trouble 
overshadowing his pious mind. And the moment 
came when the popadja understood it. 

It was on the evening of Good Friday. ISI ot till 


238 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


nine o'clock, and weary with the many services of 
the day, had the priest returned home, eating a 
mouthful of supper, and retiring -to his study. 
Thither his wife followed him presently, estab- 
lishing herself with her needlework in silence. He 
was pacing the room, murmuring to himself, as was 
his wont in preparing his sermon, and she refrained 
from speaking, but gave a furtive glance at him 
now and then. She had often thus watched him 
occupied in holy meditation, and the inward peace 
radiating from his countenance at such times would 
sink into her own heart with a loving content. Not 
so now, for an unspeakable grief was reflected in the 
face she gazed upon, and the bitterness seemed 
overflowing till she trembled and took courage to 
interrupt him. 

“ Husband,” she said, with a beating heart, 
“ are you now busy with the sermon for Easter 
Day ? ” 

He started, looking before him gloomily. “ I 
am utterly unfit ! ” he whispered hoarsely, as 
though speaking to himself . . . “utterly 

unfit ! ” He groaned aloud, covering his face with 
his hands. 

The good wife was by his side in a moment. 
“ Leo,” she sobbed, “ what is it? . . . Ah, yes, 

I know ; but you must not thus give way to your 
grief. You could not prevent it ! ” 

He shook his head, and then caught her hand 
like a drowning man. “No, wife,” he groaned, “ it 
is not merely grief for his loss ! But since that 
man has gone to ruin, I seem a hypocrite whenever 
I turn to my prayers ...” 

“ Good God ! ” she cried, aghast. 

“ I seem such, indeed,” he continued, hastily ; 
“ it is more than I can bear, and I cannot help it ! 
Have I not been teaching and preaching the jus- 


OUTLAWED. 239 

tice of God ? And now to see this man gone to ruin 
— this man ! ” 

“ But, husband, dear,” she cried, anxiously, 
“have you not often tried to make us see that 
the true recompense is in the life to come ? Will 
you doubt it yourself now ? ” 

“ In the life to come ; yes, yes,” he repeated in 
the same husky voice ; “ it is the one thing to hold 
by. . . . But why should it all go wrong in 

this world? I mean, so terribly wrong ? This man ! 
. . . his wife gone out of her mind, his children 
orphaned, and he himself making straight for the 
gallows, just because, in a wicked, self-seeking 
world, he has within him the heart of a child that 
will trust his God and believe in justice . . . 

oh, it is awful . . . awful ! ” 

She clung to him, but he freed himself from her 
embrace, and once more walked to and fro excitedly. 
The faithful wife could but retire to her corner, 
sharing his trouble apart. 

Some minutes passed. 

And presently he stood still before her, lifting her 
tearful face, and stroking her hair gently. “Eruzia,” 
he said, with quivering voice, “ I promise you to try 
and bear it. I shall battle it out; but it is a sore 
thing, and needs time. . . . Go to bed now and 

be comforted. ... I shall battle it out.” 

The wife obeyed, but found little sleep, and 
her soul kept crying through the darkness of that 
night : “ Oh, God, pity my husband— he, the priest, 
to lose faith in Thee ! ” Many a wiser prayer may 
rise to the ear of the Giver of all things ; yet none, 
perhaps, ever was more touching. 

When daylight returned she felt comforted, and 
drew courage from her husband’s quiet face on 
his bidding her good-bye for early service. She, 
too, left the house, but not to go to church, for 


240 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


a duty no less sacred directed her steps to Anusia’s 
house. 

Poor Anusia, indeed 1 It was not without reason 
that her friends sorrowed for her, for she was doubly 
stricken. The last articulate sound that had 
crossed her lips had been her husband’s name 
— that cry of despair wrung from her as he departed. 
Her grief since then had found vent in wild ravings 
only, night and day, day and night. Not a prayer, 
not a complaint had she uttered, and her eyes were 
tearless ; but she would give a shriek and continue 
moaning with parched lips. Those that watched her 
believed her out of her mind, and no hope seemed 
left, save with Father Leo, who clung to it. “ It 
will pass away,” he said, well-nigh despairing 
himself ; “ hers is a more passionate nature than 
ours, and her grief is the wilder.” Her ravings, 
indeed, appeared to lessen, the feverish agony grew 
calmer, and she began to take food; but to her 
friends the supervening apathy seemed worse than 
what had gone before. There she lay in a kind of 
living death, uttering not a sound, large-eyed and 
white-faced, wearing the expression of a helpless 
agony. But when her friends or the children at- 
tempted to rouse her, she waved them off, or cried 
huskily : “ Leave me alone, I must think it over.” 
And Father Leo would say : “No one can help her, 
she must battle through it f but the children must 
be seen to, having lost both father and mother.” 
And he arranged with his wife that twice a day she 
should go over to the farm to see to the needs of the 
household ; while outdoor matters found a willing 
helper in ITritzko Pomenko, the eldest of Simeon’s 
lads. “ If I work for Taras I shall perhaps bear it 
that he left me behind,” said the honest youth. 

That had been on the Thursday. Anusia appeared 
to take no notice that things were seen to by friends 


OUTLAWED. 


241 

and neighbours, and she continued the whole of 
Good Friday in the same dull stupor. But when 
the popadja entered the sick-chamber early on the 
Saturday a happy change, evidently, had taken place. 
The bed was vacated, and a servant-girl came 
running in explaining : “ The mistress is looking 
after the dairy, she is scolding poor Hritzko 
grievously because he brought over his father’s new 
chum.” 

And, indeed, the startled popadja even now could 
hear the so-called scolding. “I know you meant 
kindly, Hritzko,” Anusia was saying, in a voice 
both firm and clear; “but just take your things 
home with you, I can manage my own business.” 
And the priest’s lady herself presently received a 
similar greeting. “ It is most kind of you ” — Anusia 
made haste to address her friend as soon as she 
beheld her — “ I am pleased to see you any time ; but 
leave me now. And this kerchief must be yours, I 
think ; I found my Tereska wearing it. But my 
children are no poor orphans, thank God, requiring 
friends to clothe them.” 

The good lady was only too willing to be reproved. 
“Say what you like,” she cried, “I am happy to 
find you up again ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Anusia, with perfect composure, “ I 
know you all thought I had gone mad. But my mind 
was right enough ; only, you see, I had to satisfy 
my own judgment that my husband had done 
well. I had always looked upon him as the most 
perfect man on earth, so that the need was great 
to find an answer to my questioning, and everything 
besides had to give way.” 

“ Then you arrived at the conclusion that nothing 
else was left for him ? ” broke in Hritzko, vehemently. 

“ I have,” she assented. “ I saw it was his heart 
that laid it upon him to act as he has done, and he 


11 


242 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


is a man that cannot go against the behest of his 
own heart. I know that, and it must he enough for 
me. As to whether he is otherwise in the right or 
not, I, a woman, am unable to decide. My mind 
says ‘ Yes,’ but the heart keeps crying ‘No.’ I can 
hut wait and see. If he is in the right the Almighty 
will own him and let him be a helper to many. But 
if he is on the path of wrong, God will turn from 
him, and his end will be the gallows. Be that as it 
may ; he is lost to us, my children are fatherless, and 
henceforth I must be to them father and mother in 
one.” 

“ And we all will help you ! ” cried the popadja, 
warmly. 

“As fax* as I may need your help,” returned 
Anusia, “ I shall accept it gratefully.” And there- 
with she resumed issuing orders to the servants 
about the place. 

Father Leo did not learn the good news till about 
noon, when he returned from the parish, and, not 
waiting to eat his dinner, he hastened to the farm to 
see with his own eyes that Anusia indeed had re- 
covered. He found her very quiet and self-possessed, 
and there was nothing to make him doubt the 
soundness of her mind, save the occupation he 
found her engaged upon. She had had the great 
barn cleared and the floor was being spread with 
straw. “ What for? ” he inquired, wonderingly. 

“ To sleep the soldiers,” she replied, with a bitter 
smile. 

“ The soldiers ! What soldiers ? ” 

“lam surprised your reverence should require me 
to explain,” she said. “Is it unknown to you that 
he who but lately was master here has declared war 
against his Emperor, and that the wife and children of 
that man are here unprotected ? Will it not be the 
most natural thing to take possession of this farm in 


OUTLAWED. , 


243 


order to make it impossible for him to visit his 
family secretly ? And, moreover, it might be sup- 
posed that his wife could be so questioned that from 
her his whereabouts could be learned ; at any rate, 
it might be useful to make sure of her and her 
children as hostages, in case . . 

“ No, no ! ” cried Leo, “ this latter, most certainly 
not. The Emperor will never wage war upon 
women and children.” 

“ Well, we shall see,” she continued ; “ thus 
much is certain, that we shall have the Whitecoats 
quartered here before long ; that coward of a 
mandat ar will take care we shall, if no one else will. 
Did not Taras inform him plainly that with him the 
beginning should be made ? I am only sorry for the 
village. It is hard that the neighbours should suffer, 
and it will turn them against us. It will be but natural 
if they do, and I cannot help it.” 

“ They shall not, if I can prevent it,” cried the 
pope, eagerly. “ Now I know what to preach about 
to-morrow ! ” 

“ Well, I shall be grateful to you, whether you 
succeed or not, but one thing you must promise 
me ” — she held out her hand, drawing herself up 
proudly. “ You shall not ask them to pity me or 
my children. We do not need it, please God, while 
I have health and am able to keep house and home 
together.” 

He gave her his word, and kept it as far as his 
own compassion would let him. But his wife, in 
her own heart, was proudly happy, for never had she 
heard him preacb with a fervour more tender and 
soul-stirring ; not noticing in her wifely gladness that 
this sermon of his differed somewhat from his usual 
discourses, inasmuch as he never mentioned either the 
wisdom or the justice of the Almighty, being taken 
up entirely with the one message to his hearers, the 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


244 

one exhortation of “ loving our neighbour as our- 
selves ! ” And as he strove in his simple, yet impres- 
sive way to make it plain that an act of true love to 
one’s neighbours, mistaken, even, though it might be, 
was none the less worthy of grateful acknowledgment, 
and that at all events it could never deserve the ill- 
will of those for whose sake it had been done, even 
though they might have to suffer in consequence — 
they all knew whom and what he meant, and felt 
moved accordingly. And emotion deepened when 
he spoke of the common sorrow making all men as 
brethren, since none was fully happy here below, 
and that there was no surer salvation from our own 
misery than being loving and good to other sufferers, 
especially to the weak and forsaken, the widows and 
orphans about us. And taking up an example to 
hand, he spoke of the sad lot of a poor woman, 
named Josephka, whose husband they had lately 
buried. “ Do not let us imagine,” he cried, “that 
we are doing more than our bounden duty if we 
remember her trouble, aiding her with our alms, 
which she hath need of sorely. Yet, poor as 
Josephka is, it is not she that is the most sorrow- 
stricken widow among us ; there being a balm to 
her grief in the blessed thought that the husband she 
mourns has gained that rest to which we ourselves 
are journeying, that he has attained beyond the sorrow 
which remains with us still. There is another one 
among us, widowed, I say, and more grief-bowed than 
she, to whom this consolation is denied, and our most 
sacred duty is to her ! Our alms then to Josephka, 
for she has need of them, but give ye your tenderest 
love, your most helpful sympathy, to that other most 
sorrowful widow in this village, whose children in 
their father’s lifetime are as orphans in our 
midst ! ” 

There was a great sobbing among the women, 


OUTLAWED. 


245 


and a stirring among the men. One only in all 
that congregation sat unmoved, even shaking her 
head in disapproval — Anusia herself; and when the 
service was ended she quitted the building 
composedly. They all made room, and none dared 
address her, the popadja only joined her in silence 
and saw her home. 

And when the men had gathered in groups without, 
the one topic was Taras, as, indeed, was the case all 
over the country that morning. Some had heard 
that already more than a hundred men had joined 
his banner ; others had been told that his native 
parish of Ridowa had sent him word how, one and all, 
they were ready to rise in rebellion at his command ; 
others again had certain information that the district 
governor at Colomea had fainted right away on 
hearing of Taras’s now famous declaration of war 
... all of which tidings were believed in as faithfully 
as though the pope himself had announced them as 
gospel truth from the pulpit. And not a soul present 
doubted but that Taras would swoop down on the 
the arch-villain in their midst to judge him. 

What difference of opinion there was concerned 
the time only when the avenger might be expected. 

“I say he will come to-night,” said Wassilj, the 
butcher ; “ for to-day he unfurls his banner, and he 
told us it would be his first deed.” 

But others opposed this opinion. “ Taras is a 
God-fearing man,” said the sexton, “ I’ll never 
believe he will thus spend the blessed Easter.” 

“Nor should I think he would act foolishly,” 
added Red Schymko ; “ why the mandatar is safe 
away at Zablotow, hiding with the military. I know 
it for certain.” 

“You know it for a falsehood then,” retorted 
Giorgi Pomenko, “ the coward is hiding in the iron 
closet he has had built for himself at the manor 


246 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


house. I rather think, therefore, we shall hear oi 
Taras this very night.” 

“ So do I,” chimed in Marko the smith, the giant 
with the infant voice ; “ what should he be waiting 
for? Has he not men enough with the hundred 
about him, being sure also of every honest, brave 
one among us? ” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ” rejoined Wassilj, the butcher, “ am 
I not honest, or as brave as any ? yet, would I lend 
a hand to the deed ? I doubt if many will assist 
him ! ” 

“Do you?” snarled the corporal. “Can it be a 
matter of doubt, indeed, when it is a question of aiding 
your own great hero ? ” 

“ Hold your wicked tongue,” burst in the sons of 
Pomenko. “ The time is gone when Taras could be 
insulted with impunity. Whoever would do so is a 
scoundrel — and a scoundrel is every one that will 
not stand by him against the mandatar ! ” 

At which Jewgeni, the judge, grew alarmed. 
“ Hear me,” he cried. 

“A scoundrel?” interrupted the butcher. “You 
had better hold your tongues, youngsters ; this axe 
of mine has silenced many a bullock ! ” 

“Hear me,” pleaded Jewgeni “A hajdamak 
” and there he stopped. 

“Nay, hear me,” broke in Bed Schymko; “I know 
what is best to do. I -make no promises either way, 
but shall just wait and see ! If the mandatar offers 
resistance, to the shedding of blood even, I were a 
fool to risk life in opposing him. Is it my quarrel ? 
Have I prevented the parish from getting back the 
field by force ? It was Taras’s doing. Have I lost the 
law suit ? No, but Taras has. Have I turned outlaw, 
calling myself an avenger, and having my praises 
sung by all the land? No, not I; but Taras. 
Then, I say, let him bear the brunt. But when the 


OUTLAWED. 


247 

mandatar and his men are worsted, and there is a 
chance of repaying ourselves, let us not he such fools 
as to stand by and look on. As he robbed us, so 
let us rob him — that is what I think. . .” 

“For shame!” cried Giorgi Pomenko; and 
Wassilj, the butcher, added : “ Yes, for shame ! Are 
you addressing a parcel of thieves ? ” 

“Well, hear me then — a hajdamak — and I your 

udge ” But Jewgeni again stopped short, the 

butcher being bent on a further hearing. 

“ Listen to me, you men, and I will show you that I 
am no scoundrel,” he cried, lifting up his powerful 
voice, “ I am all for Taras, and whoever speaks ill 
of him shall answer for it to me. He is a grand 
hero, and far from being a hajdamak. He has 
undertaken the sacred duty of being an avenger, 
of righting the wrong. But in this great work we 
may not help him, because we have wife and 
child to consider. If he has risen above any 
such consideration it is in virtue of his own magna- 
nimity. For my part, I am unable to equal it. 
Whoever joins Taras openly has to choose between 
going to prison or taking refuge in the mountains. 
I shall keep the peace, therefore, and so will every 
conscientious man here, for the sake of his family.” 

“ Yes ! yes ! ” cried the men, one after another, 
“ Wassilj has said well, Taras has our best wishes. 
More is the pity that we cannot openly join him.” 

“ Pity ! ” sneered the corporal ; “ but you may look 
on, at a safe distance ! ” 

“ Yes, indeed, and we will,” was the unanimous 
retort. “ It is you and Schymko that disgrace the 
village. No honest man will go to sleep to-night.” 

And therewith the consultation ended. 

Not long after, Halko, the servant lad of Anusia’s 
farm, rushed into his mistress’s presence, “Is it 
true ” — he cried, “ it is being spoken of all over the 


248 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


village — that Taras, with a hundred men, will attack 
the manor to-night? The people mean to watch 
for it, hut will not join him for fear of the law. Is 
it true?” 

Anusia stood trembling violently, a burning glow 
and a death-like pallor succeeding one another 
rapidly in her face. 

“How should I know?” she said presently, with a 
stony look. “ I and my family belong to the 
village, and have nothing to do with the ‘ avenger.’ 
And just because he has been the master of this 
house there is henceforth no communion between 
him and us ! Let the others watch for him ; we 
shall retire as usual. Let no one dare to disregard 
my orders 1 ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 

W HILE the inhabitants of Zulawce thus ex- 
citedly waited for the events of the coming 
night, their busy imagination beguiling the slow 
hours with various visions of the hapless mandatar, 
beholding him either hanged, or shot, or burnt alive, 
this gentleman himself was similarly engaged. That 
is to say, he also was waiting excitedly for the 
night, endeavouring to shorten the agony of delay 
by picturing to himself the approaching crisis. But 
the images he had in view were of a vastly different 
nature. For he was nowise hiding in an iron closet at 
Zulawce, which, even if he had desired it, would have 
been impossible, for the simple reason that there was 
no such stronghold ; but he was at that moment com- 
fortably established in the snug little smoking-room 
of his chambers at Colomea — his refuge, both for his 
pleasures and, perchance now, in trouble. He had 
just returned from a dinner which the district 
governor at this season was in the habit of giving to 
the officials of the place ; and between the blue circles 
ascending from his expensive cheroot he now be- 
held visions — imagining the impending scenes at an 
evening party to which the richest man of the 
neighbourhood, Herr Bogdan von Antoniewicz, an 
Armenian, had invited a small but select company. 
These scenes presumably would be of a pleasant 


11 * 


25*0 


FOR THE RIGHT. 

nature, for Mr. Hajek kept smiling — nay, lie even 
skipped about his 1 room the while he puffed his 
fragrant cloudlets with a sort of irrepressible 
delight. But if he was expecting some happy event 
it appeared to be a critical one also, to judge from 
the nervous action with which he kept pulling 
out his watch, and there was even an occasional 
shadow of seriousness gliding over his finely-cut but 
dissipated features. But this was like a noonday 
cloud, only darkening for a moment the brilliant 
sky, and the mandatar returned to his smiles. 

“ Pshaw,” he said, stopping before his looking- 
glass and twirling his moustache, “as if I had not 
made sure of her virtues myself ! . . . three of 

them ! And for the rest of it ” he paused, bow- 

ing profoundly to his image in the glass ; “ for the 
rest of it, Mr. Hajek, please to bear in mind your 
history and your present dilemma. Ha ! ha ! ” He 
appeared immensely tickled with this pretence at 
honesty ; it seemed quite a joke to ruminate over a 
bit of self-knowledge, and it kept him in the best of 
humour till the clock struck eight, when he rang for 
his valet, and, having completed his toilet, he drove 
to the villa of the Armenian. 

It was early for an evening party of distinction, 
and Mr. Hajek, who had lived in Paris, and there- 
fore was looked upon as an oracle of good style by 
all who pretended to be fashionable at Colomea, 
would under ordinary circumstances never have 
sinned so grievously against the laws he himself had 
established. But in the present case it was incum- 
bent on him to be the first of the guests. For these 
were not ordinary circumstances, but, on the con- 
trary, an event which as a rule comes but once in 
life ; he was driving to the villa in order to celebrate 
his betrothal with the widowed Countess Wanda 
Koninski, the Armenian’s only daughter. It was 


ELOtJRISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 


251 


indeed an event ! and the several actors in the little 
comedy had even drawn up a programme for the 
most suitable expression of their feelings. 

It has been maintained by people of experience that 
it is not so much fiery love which ensures the 
happiest marriages — since the flame too often is 
sadly transient — but rather an even share of mutual 
understanding and a certain sympathetic perception 
of each other’s aims in life. If it be so, the 
mandatar and the young widow might fairly be 
congratulated. And again, if it be true that a man’s 
relations with his parents-in-law, in order to be 
satisfactory, must preclude the possibility of a 
delusion on either side concerning each other’s 
moral worth, not a shadow of a doubt could be 
entertained but that the mandatar and the parents 
of his bride elect would yield a spectacle of the 
most charming friendship — quite hand in glove, in 
fact. For, excepting Mr. Hajek himself, Herr 
Bogdan von Antoniewicz certainly was the greatest 
rascal of the district. 

This prosperous man did not like to be reminded 
of his earlier years, nor was he ever heard to refer 
to his ancestors, although . they had been honest 
cattle-drovers in Moldavia. He himself had pursued 
this occupation in his youth : but possessing a kind of 
prudence which rendered his conscience easy and 
his money-bag close, he managed to make a little 
capital, establishing cattle trading on his own account. 

Then it happened, as he would describe it, that a 
sore blow was experienced by the death of the best 
of uncles, a merchant at Constantinople, who had 
made him his heir. The chief facts were correct, 
and the deceased had left his money to his nephew, 
only it was not Bogdan who was that nephew, but a 
poor man of the name of Mikita, who was in Bogdan’s 
service. The latter had received a ponderous docu- 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


252 

ment with seals and flourishes, announcing to him 
his uncle’s bequest ; and, being unable to read, he 
had taken it to his master. Bogdan read it — there 
was a legacy of ten thousand ducats — and he was 
seized with a feeling of vast sympathy with the 
humble man. He remembered that Mikita had 
nine ragged children, and that a shower of riches 
coming thus suddenly could be no blessing, since, 
no doubt, it would teach him to be thriftless. 
He said, therefore, to his labourer, “ You’re a 
lucky dog, to be sure, there’s your uncle dead 
and left you ten ducats ! ” This, of course, was to 
try the man, to see if he were worthy of a great for- 
tune ; for what would become of his poor children , 
mused the philanthropic Bogdan, if he made away 
with his ten thousand ducats, leading a riotous life 
and turning his back upon work ! Let him prove 
first how he will take the lesser luck. The poor 
man but ill stood the test. He had never known 
such wealth, and simply cried with delight, begging 
his master to lend him a ducat on the strength of 
his inheritance. Bogdan did so, hoping the man 
would not waste so great a sum, but put it out at 
interest discreetly. But Mikita, that spendthrift, 
knew no better investment than some new clothes 
for his little ones, also giving them a regular good 
meat for once. After awhile he presented himself 
again to his master, who, sadly grieving, handed 
him a second ducat; and so on till, after six months 
or so, the wretched father had actually spent the ten 
of them. And now the well-intentioned Bogdan went 
through a severe conflict with himself, ending with 
the renewed conviction that it were an unpardon- 
able want of foresight to ]et those children be 
ruined. So having given to Mikita ten ill-spent 
ducats, he got him to put his mark to a receipt 
that the full amount of the legacy had been made 


Flourishing like a bat-tree. 253 

over to him, and there apon he went and presented 
himself as the required heir. 

Thus Bogdan, acting for the best for his humble 
neighbour, had laid the foundation of his fortune. 
But it is well known that one’s noblest actions 
are often cruelly misjudged, and this matter some- 
how leaking out, made it impossible for the tender- 
hearted cattle-trader to continue in the neighbour- 
hood. He resolved to shake off from his feet the 
very dust of his old life, departing stealthily, and 
making his way into Austria, where, with his newly- 
acquired capital, he bought a large property, osten- 
sibly bent on farming his land. The property, 
however, happened to be situated in the Bukowina, 
a very central position, where Austria, Kussia, and 
Moldavia join. Now the import duties in those days 
were particularly heavy, and a man of resources 
living on the frontiers could not but direct his 
faculties to studying their results. Mr. Bogdan 
was too clever not to see that free commerce 
naturally must spring from an overdone system of 
protection, and, experimenting upon his theory, he 
ended in siding with free trade altogether. His 
property was delightfully situated for smuggling 
purposes, and he flattered himself he would best 
serve his generation by introducing large quantities 
of tobacco from Bessarabia into Austria, to the 
detriment of the Imperial monopoly, which was 
disgracefully selfish, he argued. He throve for 
awhile, but the eyes of the customs authorities 
were upon him. He escaped conviction just in 
time, selling his property advantageously and 
acquiring a larger one in Eastern Galicia. 

He was now forty years of age, rich and prosperous, 
but alone in his glory. His heart, such as it was, 
longed for a distinguished passion, and his button- 
hole gaped for a decoration. He would marry into 


254 


FOR THE RiGHT. 


the aristocracy, and become the founder of a noble 
house. As for marrying a person of title, that is 
almost easier in those parts than insisting on the 
contrary; but on what grounds he could become 
ennobled, even his fertile brain was *at a loss to 
suggest. Fortune, however, had always smiled on 
him ; and it so happened that the mysterious power 
which rules our hearts and destinies introduced to 
him a lady well qualified for becoming the stepping- 
stone of his aspirations. In the present instance 
that world-famed power elected to show itself in 
the person of a certain Jew, who made his living 
by acting as go-between in the matrimonial 
market. This herald appeared one day, proposing 
to Mr. Bogdan a union with a certain aristocratic 
spinster, Antonia von Kulczika. There was no 
doubt as to her good birth, but she was not very 
young, and not rich — possessed of influence, how- 
ever, through having enjoyed the protection, hitherto, 
of one of the most powerful magnates of the land. 
Wicked tongues, of course, delighted in a tale, for 
which reason Aaron Moses, in stating the lady’s 
virtues, kept his hand cautiously on the door-handle. 
To his agreeable surprise, however, Mr. Bogdan 
listened quietly, owning even to a sort of partiality 
for the lady he had never seen, and that nothing 
was required but certain easily-defined conditions 
in order to rouse his ardent love, which conditions 
being stated, Aaron Moses entered them in his note- 
book. 

Within a month the Jew returned with a deed 
of gift, whereby the above-mentioned magnate, 
with brotherly generosity, settled on the lady the 
landed property of Rossow. Mr. Bogdan, on making 
sure of this, laid his hand upon his heart, con- 
fessing to the Jew his unmistakable devotion to 
the lady, to whom he was ready now to be intro- 


Flourishing like a bay-tree. 255 

duced. But there was no talk of betrothal as yet. 
True love mostly is of the shyest, and Mr. Bogdan 
found no words for his feelings until Aaron Moses 
had brought him a letter wherein the magnate, 
under his own hand, had given his word of honour 
that he would procure a patent of nobility for Mr. 
Bogdan Antoniewicz within a year of his marriage 
with Miss Antonia von Kulczika. This settled, 
there was nothing left to hinder the flow of his 
feelings, and in due course the nuptials were 
solemnised. 

They were a pattern pair ; and if those only can 
be happy in married life whose mutual love is 
equalled by their mutual respect, their happiness 
was assured, for the love of this couple could not 
easily have been less than the esteem they bore one 
another. The happy husband in due time found him- 
self Herr von Antoniewicz, his wife presenting him, 
moreover, with a fair-haired little girl. There 
appeared nothing to prevent their being received into 
society, for the lady was handsome, Bogdan 
rich and prosperous. The officers of the neigh- 
bouring garrison were the first to get over their 
qualms, the rest of society following suit. As years 
went on the lady, of course, could not be said to 
grow in grace or beauty ; bufc Bogdan gained 
riches steadily, possessing three large estates now 
and plenty of money, which he continued to put to 
usury advantageously. 

Such were the future parents-in-law of Mr. Hajek. 
Those who knew them could not but own that all 
three were worthy of each other, and the same might 
be said of the bridal couple itself. Bogdan von 
Antoniewicz had his daughter educated after the style 
most approved of by the Polish aristocracy. She had 
a Parisian governess, who taught her French and the 
piano, the rest of the ‘ branches ’ being confided to a 


256 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


refugee from Warsaw, in whose estimation there was 
no science equal to Polish patriotism, and in this he 
instructed her. Wanda should be a true Pole. It 
was not pleasant, therefore, when her parents one 
day made a sorrowful discovery, proving her Aus- 
trian predilections. She had a lover in the Imperial 
army, who, on being moved with his regiment, left 
it expedient for her father to find her a husband. 
It had better not be a rogue, if a fool was to 
be had, thought the latter ; and a suitable youth was 
found in the person of one Count Agenor Koninski. 
Very suitable he was, being, in the first place, of the 
bluest aristocracy ; moreover, in the second place, of 
such doubtful finances that Bogdan’s offer was a 
godsend to him-; and, thirdly, he was an easy-going 
fellow, whose wife might be what she pleased. 
“ Koninski” might be correctly rendered by “ horse- 
man ” — it was just the name for him. He spent his 
life with horses, and even came by his death through 
them, being thrown on a racecourse. 

The widowed Wanda knew what she owed to her 
position ; her sympathies were no longer with the 
Imperial army, but no Polish nobleman therefore 
cared for her hand. She and her belongings had 
thoroughly disgusted even that lenient body ; and, 
at the time when Mr. Hajek was making friends at 
Colomea, the Armenian, in spite of his great wealth, 
was reduced to a select circle of visitors — respectable 
people refused his invitations. He and his wife had 
reached their threescore and ten, the Countess 
Wanda was thirty, and her boy eleven years old. 
It was high time to put an end to the scandal, and 
gain an able man who could manage the property. 
This state of things explains why Bogdan, in spite 
of the pride of his acquired nobility, as well as 
the widowed Countess herself, had turned their 
thoughts to the low-born mandatar, instructing 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 257 

their willing emissary, Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski, 
accordingly — he being no other than that refugee 
who, in her youth, had educated Wanda in 
Polish patriotism, and who still awaited the day 
when Bussia should suffer, glad meanwhile to act as 
the Armenian’s hanger-on. He had to take his time 
in making overtures to the mandatar, who did not 
seem open to his hints ; but he was able at last to 
inform the countess that Mr. Hajek had discovered 
he loved her; and it was agreed to celebrate the 
betrothal forthwith, even on Easter Sunday. 

It had been no easy resolve on the part of the man- 
datar. To be sure, the widowed Countess possessed 
three first-rate charms, nay, virtues, in his eyes, being 
heiress to the broad lands of Rossow, Horkowka, and 
Drinkowce, and he himself was not a man given to 
prejudice. Still he had managed somehow to acquire 
the position of a man of honour in the district, and 
was loth to part with this pleasant sensation, all the 
more valued, perhaps, for its novelty. But while he 
yet felt divided, the news reached him of Taras’s 
declaration, and the cowardly wretch was seized 
with a perfect frenzy of fear. Indeed, the real 
match-maker, bringing together this pair of worthies, 
was not so much Thaddeus as Taras Barabola. 

Mr. Hajek had not been in the village, and knew 
nothing of the great meeting. He had gone to a 
mess breakfast at Zablotow, Captain Mihaly, of the 
Palffy hussars, in garrison there, having invited him 
over. It was a merry gathering, comprising, besides 
the officers, several young nobles of the neighbour- 
hood. But none so merry as Hajek himself; and 
he kept up his spirits when, breakfast over, he was 
invited to preside at the gaming table. He was 
winning largely, and was a very fountain of fun to 
the dissipated party. They went on gambling for 
the best part of the day. 


258 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


But there was a strange interruption, the captain’s 
man announcing, with a queer expression, that the 
under-steward, Boleslaw, had arrived, bearing an im- 
portant message to the mandatar — a certain peasant 
named Barabola having that day declared war against 
the Emperor. 

The news produced the greatest hilarity; the 
officers roared with laughter. But Wenceslas 
Hajek grew deadly pale, and, dropping the cards 
from his hands, he jumped from his seat shaking 
from head to foot. “ Gentlemen,” he gasped, 
“you would not laugh if you knew the man . . . 
this is a matter of life and death . . . excuse me, I 
must have particulars. ...” 

He moved to the door, but the captain was before 
him. “ No ! ” he cried, facetiously, “ you shall not 
monopolise this declaration of war. We are His 
Majesty’s officers, and ought to have our share — let 
the man enter ! ” 

The under-steward appeared, his gigantic frame 
positively limp with dismay, as he reported the chief 
contents of Taras’s speech. “ You know what sort 
of man you have to deal with, sir,” he said, in con- 
clusion, turning to the mandatar. “ This day week 
he means to make his beginning — make it upon you, 
sir ! He has retired for the present in the direc- 
tion of the Bed Hollow. Four men are with him 
to-day; there will be fifty before the week is 
out.” 

The gentlemen ceased to be amused ; somehow the 
giant’s consternation had affected them. But when 
he had done, their laughter returned. “ War ! ” they 
cried, “ what fun ! Double pay and promotion for 
all of us ! ” The captain adding : “ But he has 

given us a week’s grace, so let us finish our rubber. 
Mr. Hajek, I think you were meditating a trump 
• . . but, good heavens, man ! ” he interrupted him- 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 259 

self, evidently alarmed, “what is the matter? . . . 
He is fainting ! ” 

And, indeed, the mandatar’s appearance was 
enough to startle his companions. He had sunk 
down on the nearest chair, the bloodless face dis- 
torted with terror ; and as they gazed at him his 
head sank lower, till it rested on the table. 

“ Belshazzar ! ” cried a youthful lieutenant, 
“ Mene, Tekel, Upharsin ! Yes, yes, my dear Mr. 
Hajek, your conscience seems ill at ease concerning 
these peasants ! Why, you are crying ! ” 

The mandatar actually had begun to sob. “ Ah ! ” 
he moaned, “ I must be off to the town. ...” He 
attempted to rise, but fell back on his chair. “ No 
... I must go back to the manor first . . . my 
papers. . . . Captain ! ” he shrieked, imploringly, 
“ I entreat you, let your troop be mounted, and 
escort me to Zulawce — I mean, stay with me till you 
can bring me away again in safety. I’m a dead man, 
and the manor will be in ruins, if you refuse ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” cried the captain, in disgust. “ I 
should not have believed it of you ! This sudden 
news has made a coward of you ! Don’t you know 
that I am not at liberty to order my men about in 
that fashion ? ” 

“ Then you shall answer for the consequences ! ” 
screamed Hajek, wildly. “ But I shall not go home 
by myself!” And again he sobbed, but recovered 
himself presently. “ I must take refuge at Colomea. 
We are but three of us — the under- steward, myself, 
and the coachman, and those cut-throats are four or 
five ! I trust you will, at least, set us up with arms, 
captain, and lend me some of your men to see us 
safely on our way.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Captain Mihaly, coldly. “I 
am quite able to grant you an escort.” 

And within an hour Mr. Hajek was on the road to 


260 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Colomea, a hussar on either side of his vehicle, the 
under-steward besides having provided himself with 
a perfect arsenal of weapons. Neverthess, the 
mandat ar was dying with fright at every turn, cry- 
ing aloud with terror as often as a sound rose in 
the distance or some horseman appeared in view. 
In vain Boleslaw tried to comfort him ; all he could 
do was to remind him that Taras had said with his 
own lips another week would lapse before he should 
make his beginning, “ and you know he always is 
true to his word ! ” 

The mandatar’s answer to this was, perhaps, the 
finest praise ever awarded to Taras. “ Ah ! ” he 
groaned, “ you may not have heard it correctly” — 
for that Taras should ever deviate from his word, 
in great things or little, even he did not doubt ; but 
just this made all the rest so fearful ! . . . 

The news had come to him quite unexpectedly, 
although he had been fully informed concerning 
Taras’s doings, his prolonged visits to the mountains, 
his growing despair, and lastly his cession of property. 
But he had misjudged these signs, believing in his 
own evil soul that Taras intended to make away 
with himself, and would probably do so upon the 
Emperor’s refusal ; indeed, he had even pitied the 
man, after a fashion, as 'a butcher may feel pity for 
a fine bullock whose carcase he intends to sell well. 
Now that he had learned Taras’s intentions, he 
seemed suddenly to be aware what stuff the man 
was made of, and though but the barest outline of 
that memorable speech could have been reported to 
him, he had a clearer perception of its drift, no 
doubt, than most of those who had heard it with 
their own ears. “Yes, yes,” he groaned, “the 
angel has become a fiend, and none so black as 
those that were all light before ! ” 

At last the morning dawned. The mandatar 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 261 

ventured to dismiss his escort, and towards nine 
o’clock he reached the town, where he parted also 
from Boleslaw, sending him back to Zulawce. 

“ Do you beheve the manor is endangered by my 
absence ? ” 

“ No,” said the giant, “ only by your presence, 
sir. What Taras wants is to punish you in life 
and limb ; he does not care for your property, save 
as far as it may serve to indemnify the people for 
their supposed loss. But I should say he will not 
touch anything till he has got hold of yourself.” 

The mandatar shook. “ I daresay you are right,” 
he said. “ Nevertheless, I want you to bring me, 
without delay, the black casket you will find in my 
bedroom cupboard — this is the key. I shall not leave 
this place for the present, and shall do my best to 
have the wretch hanged, else ” 

“He will see you hanged,” concluded Boleslaw. 
“ I am afraid you are right, sir.” 

And with this parting benediction ringing in his 
ears, Mr. Hajek repaired at once to the district 
governor, to whom he represented the matter 
as a rebellion of gigantic dimensions, endanger- 
ing the lives and property of thousands of helpless 
subjects, if a price were not set on Taras’s 
head forthwith and half a dozen regiments des- 
patched against him. 

Herr von Bauer took refuge in his favourite growl- 
ing. “ Pleasant ! most pleasant ! ” he muttered, 
and took to pacing his office like a caged lion. 
“Who on earth has to face such bothers but me? 
Defend your enemy, not to say your friend, from 
being a district governor in Galicia ! I hoped we 
had done with these cut-throats since * Wild 
Wassilj ’ had the good sense to shoot himself — 
now there is another of these rascals ! But who 
would have believed it of Taras Barabola ! I would 


262 


FOB THE RIGHT. 


have taken my oath that he was an honest man. To 
be sure, he understands nothing of justice — came to 
me once expecting we should prosecute for the 
recovery of that field. He positively believed it was 
our duty — to prosecute, you understand ! A man 
who has such notions may as well turn hajdamak ! 
They are just savages here — I have always said 
so. . . not a notion of how the law works ! . . 
Well, I am much obliged for your news, sir, but it 
is not for us to proceed on it. Things must be done 
in order. Kindly send in your information in writing ; 
it will cost you nothing. Good morning ! ” 

“ And may I ask how soon the matter will then be ' 
attended to ? ” 

“ In due course — first come, first served ! ” 

“ Sir ! Why this is a most pressing case ! I would 
propose, as a first step, to send for the hussars from 
Zablotow ” 

“Hussars? Good gracious ! ” and the district 
governor grew as red as a turkey-cock. “ Who do you 
take me for, sir? Am I a general to order about 
the military ? I am governor of the district, sir — 
worse luck that I am ! ” 

The mandatar was abashed, but made another 
attempt. “ Sir,” he said, rather pathetically, “my 
life is at stake, and what is more, the property of 
the Count, my master. I venture to ask how the 
matter will be dealt with ! ” 

“ In due course, to be sure ! When your state- 
ment has been filed we shall despatch a commissary 
to Zulawce to report to us ; and if it is as you tell 
me, we have quite a complicated charge of felony : 
the man has insulted the Emperor, not to say 
the Almighty Himself; he has libelled Govern- 
ment, and is guilty of seditious proceedings. It will 
be an interesting case, to be sure ; he’ll have ten 
years of penal servitude for that speech alone. And 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 


263 


if he should lay hands on you, as he seems fully to 
intend, we will have him hanged ! Will that satisfy 
you ? ” 

But strange to say, the mandatarwas not satisfied. 
“ Sir,” he stammered, “ delay is most dangerous. 
Will that commissary be starting to-morrow ? ” 

“To-morrow?” gasped the governor. “Why 
not, rather, to-day ? Perhaps we ought to ask your 
pardon for not having sent him as early as yester- 
day ! . . . To-morrow! Are you in your senses, sir?” 
And he paced his office more violently than ever. 
It took him some time to get over this unheard-of 
suggestion, and then he said : “A commissioner 
will be sent as soon as feasible ; in about a month’s 
time, I should say ; things must be done in due 
course ! And now I have the honour of making my 
bow to you.” 

The mandat ar could but take his leave, standing 
still a moment outside. It was the very spot where 
his unhappy victim, and now his implacable enemy, 
had first felt the sore pain of disappointed hope and 
helpless wrath — these same sensations now having him 
for their prey. The fear of death, which he had been 
able to hold at bay awhile with the vain expectation 
that the all-powerful State would' hedge him round 
with safety, seized upon him afresh, tearing his 
cowardly heart to pieces. With tottering knees, 
and almost beside himself with rage and terror, he 
slunk away. 

In one of the streets his eye was caught by a shop 
window exhibiting fire-arms. He entered and 
bought a double-barrelled pistol. “ If I should have 
the misfortune of falling into his hands,” he mur- 
mured, “ I will at least save myself the worst of 
ignominy.” But a voice in his heart gave him the 
lie directly. “ Coward ! ” it said ; “ you would never 
dare it — never ! ” 


264 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Retribution for this man’s crimes had begun 
before Taras lifted a finger against him, and his just 
terrors continued — nay, were added to hourly. The 
mandatar, even in his least cowardly moments, felt 
the situation to be most critical. While Taras 
lived, his returning to Zulawce was a movement in 
the direction of death ; and there appeared to be every 
likelihood of Taras’s continuing in life, while the 
authorities were bent on dealing with him “ in due 
course,” as the district governor had taken pains 
to point out. It seemed highly advisable, then, 
for Mr. Hajek to keep at a safe distance from 
Zulawce, and this was tantamount to his retiring 
from his stewardship, since the peasants, he knew, 
would never dream of rendering the slightest of 
their dues, be it tribute or labour, unless the manda- 
tar were bodily present to make them. And if he got 
into arrears with the monthly payments to the 
Count, in Paris, this gentleman would not be long in 
dismissing him, without the least pity for his difficul- 
ties. It was preferable, then, to anticipate a dis- 
missal. But how to make a living for the future ? To 
be sure, he had improved the stewardship he was 
about to quit, putting by in that little black box of 
his a neat sum of several thousand florins in good 
Austrian securities, although he had never stinted 
himself of any personal luxury. Should he fall back 
upon these savings, leaving the country altogether and 
seeking a berth elsewhere ? But in that case, not only 
this little capital would be endangered, but another 
and more precious one would also be lost, even the 
good name he had managed to acquire, and which he 
hoped to turn into a bait with which to land a fortune 
one of these days. Nor was this a mere illusion. 
Mr. Hajek was too sharp-witted to fool himself, and 
he really had come to enjoy a certain position at 
Colomea ; for he was a man of the world and knew 


FLOUKISHING LIKE A BAY-TKEE. 


265 


how to ingratiate himself with society, while even 
his worst enemy must admit he was an adept in the 
management of landed property. He knew, there- 
fore, to what port he ought to run : he must look 
out for an heiress and become a landed proprietor 
himself. There were several eligible maidens, pre- 
sumably willing to further his aims, with handsome 
sums in their pockets, if not Polish coronets on their 
brows. But all these hopes had vanished now ; the 
successful mandatar might have proffered his suit in 
such quarters, but never the luckless culprit whose 
misdeeds had found him out. The one question for 
him was how to gain time, in order to make the 
best of his miserable fate. 

Thus, by a strange coincidence of circumstances, 
the mere announcement of Taras’s intentions had 
sufficed to ruin his enemy effectively ; and the 
under-steward, returning on Tuesday with the 
precious black casket, found his master deeply 
dejected. Nor was his news calculated to rouse 
better hopes. “ To tell the truth,” said Boleslaw, 
“ I brought away the worst impressions concerning 
the peasantry. Not an hour’s further labour will 
they yield, and no tribute of any kind. Taras is a 
hero and a liberator in their eyes ; and as for you, 
sir — I beg your pardon, but it is a fact — they are 
all delighted at the bare idea that he is going to 
hang you. I spoke with several of the villagers, and 
they all said the same thing.” 

“ That will do,” said the mandatar, faintly, and 
motioned him to go. Left alone, he sank into a 
chair, and involuntarily put his fingers round his 
throat. “ There must be an end to this ! ” he cried. 
“ I must shake off this business; I will have nothing 
more to do with these wretches.” 

And, going to his desk, he wrote a letter to the 
Count — it was his resignation. He folded the 


13 


266 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


sheet, and put it into an envelope, which he sealed. 
But there he stopped, dipping his pen again and 
again without addressing the missive. “ It might 
be premature after all,” he murmured at last, throw- 
ing down the quill and snatching up his hat. “ I 
ought not to act rashly, at least not before finding 
out the opinion of the town.” 

But if any one wished to know what the world 
thought at Colomea, he could not do better than re- 
pair to a certain wine-cellar, where the “daily news ” 
of the place was almost sure to he present, gossip- 
ping away from early morning sometimes till the clos- 
ing hour at midnight. This worthy was none other 
than Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski, whose vicissitudes 
in life were a prolific source of entertainment to all 
the tipplers of the place. Mr. Thaddeus, by his own 
showing, was a man of consequence ; but the jovial 
company listening to his tales somehow had agreed 
to call him Thaddy. Now Thaddy’s history — of 
which he was most liberal — was of a curious kind, 
and never the same for two days running. On a 
Sunday he would have large possessions in Vol- 
hynia ; and, being the last of an honourable name, 
he had fought the Russians gallantly, but was left 
for dead on the field of battle, after which he made 
his escape into Galicia. On Mondays he was the 
son of a Polish officer in French service, who had 
enjoyed the close friendship of Napoleon, and he 
had been a cadet at Vincennes; but, turning his 
back upon his brilliant prospects, he had entered the 
Polish army for love of his country — the rest being 
the same as on Sunday. On a Tuesday his name, 
de Bazanski, was merely an alias for prudence’ 
sake, and he was really the scion of a princely 
house of Lithuania; but, having quarrelled with 
his family, who were of Russian tendencies, 
he had entered the Polish army — the rest the same 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 


267 


as on Monday. On Wednesdays he had large pos- 
sessions in the Ukraine, and in fact all the revolution 
of 1831 had been carried on with his money. Having 
been obliged to flee, he joined the Carbonari in 
Piedmont, and now lived in Galicia in order to be 
at hand when the great day of revenge should have 
dawned. On Thursdays, when the cellars would be 
specially well filled after the weekly meeting of the 
local board, Thaddy’s history had quite a romantic 
origin. He was a natural son of Alexander I. and 
a Polish countess, spending his youth at the Court 
of St. Petersburg, petted by all, until he did his 
duty as the son of his mother, standing up boldly 
before his half-brother Nicolas and demanding of 
him a grant of liberty for poor Poland. He was 
refused, and then — the same as on Wednesday. On 
Fridays, when the place was but indifferently visited, 
he was just a poor brave nobleman, who had spent 
the best years of his life for the good of his country, 
and was ready to do so again ; while on the Saturday 
his tale had an anti-semitic tinge. His father, on 
those days, having been one of the richest land- 
owners of Masovia, had been so foolish as to allow his 
Jewish tenants to drop into arrears with their rents, 
till the family was nearly beggared. It was then that 
Thaddeus showed the stuff he wa s made of, evicting 
“ those rascally Jews,” and making front against the 
Bussians at the same time ; and he was now at 
Colomea endeavouring to work up those sad arrears. 
To he sure, he never had any success to tell of, 
hut that might be because of his constantly changing 
his lawyer, who, it was observed, was mentioned by 
a different name every Saturday. For the rest, if 
any visitor of the cellars ever had forgotten what, day 
of the week it might he, he had but to listen for 
a moment to Thaddy’s tale in order to recover the 
lost thread of his time. 


268 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


These varying accounts were calculated to lend an 
air of distinction to the narrator, but there were 
some whose shrewdness believed his fame to be 
spurious, and one or two wicked tongues had even 
asserted that his features bore a suspicious likeness 
to a loquacious barber they had known at Warsaw. 
Thaddy denounced this as a libel, boldly ; but it 
was not so easy to accuse people of calumny when 
they added that his appearance, somehow, was 
not of the aristocratic military type ! That was 
true enough, for there was nothing of the heroic 
about his mean little figure, and those greenish 
eyes, half cunning, half cowardly, peering away 
over a coppery nose for any good luck in his way. 
Of course he always appeared in the national costume ; 
but the * kantouche ’ was peculiarly long and ill- 
fitting, not because of any eccentric taste of his, but 
simply because nature had endowed Mr. Bogdan with 
a figure so utterly different from Thaddy’s. His 
‘ confederatka,’ however, was his own — one of the 
strangest head-gears ever worn by mortal man. It 
probably had been high, stiff, and square originally, 
but it had collapsed to utter flabbiness, and it could 
not now be said to be of any colour, having faded to a 
mixture of all. Thaddy kept assuring his listeners 
that he wore this article on great anniversaries for 
the most patriotic of reasons, since it had covered 
his head at the famous battle of Ostrolenka. It 
certainly looked ancient enough to have seen even 
the Napoleonic wars; and if it had many holes, 
that no doubt was a proof of the many bullets 
which had threatened the head of its gallant 
wearer. As for the anniversaries, there were 
those who pretended to observe that the famous 
confederatka was seen rather often, in fact quite 
habitually, on Thaddy’s head — but then, the his- 
tory of Poland is so rich in events, that the year 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 269 

of the piously inclined is one long anniversary 
naturally. 

As for the present employment of this national 
martyr, it was twofold ; he ostensibly waited for the 
better days of Poland, gaining his livelihood mean- 
while by entertaining the customers at the cellars 
with his gossip, and holding himself in readiness 
for any business in which an agent might be wanted 
who was not over squeamish in his views. 

When Mr. Hajek, on that Tuesday afternoon, 
entered the cellars he found Thaddy alone, in his 
usual corner, sadly occupied with counting the flies 
on the various pictures adorning the room. He 
looked up, a gleam of satisfaction shooting across 
his countenance, and held out his hand, which 
cordiality, however, the new comer appeared not to 
observe. “ Ha ! ” he cried, “ what a strange coinci- 
dence ; here I was just thinking of you, actually ! 
There is a curious likeness between this excellent 
young man’s fate — meaning yourself — and mine, I 
was saying.” 

“Indeed ! ” replied the mandatar, coldly, taking a 
seat and ordering a bottle of wine. “ Between you 
and me? ” 

“Yes, unmistakably,” cried Mr. de Bazanski, 
coming nearer and taking his place opposite the 
mandatar. “ A striking likeness in fact. It so 
occupied my mind that I quite forgot I was thirsty, 
and, indeed, for the matter of that, I am of too 
sociable a turn to have a glass by myself.” This 
was true enough, for Thaddy never had any drink 
except in company. They knew better at the 
cellars than to give him anything that was not 
ordered and paid for by his friends. 

Mr. Hajek smiled, requesting the waiter to bring 
a second glass. “ A striking likeness, you were 
saying ? ” 


270 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


“Most striking, sir, and unmistakable ! Just look 
at me — what is it I have come to ? I am an old 
officer, to be sure, who will give proof yet of the 
stuff he is made of. But what of this? I was 
thinking of my happy youth, and how from the 
battlements of our princely castle in Lithuania I, 
with a telescope, would scan our broad domain ; 
forty-nine villages I could count, and they all were 
situated on our lands. Yes, ours was a princely 
family, and now, alas, I may not even confess to the 
name I was born to, I ” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted the mandatar; 

“ besides, I was aware that this ia Tuesday.” 

But Thaddy was not the man to be disconcerted. 

“ Of course, this is Tuesday,” he assented, smilingly. 

“ I was going to add — who is to blame that I am a 
stranger now to my princely heritage, if not my 
wicked relatives ? And who is it that, at the present 
moment, is a sore trouble to you, if not this wicked 
peasantry of Zulawce? Is it not a strange and 
striking similarity? ” 

“ Very striking,” said Hajek. “ Then you have 
heard about affairs at Zulawce?” 

“ Of course I have,” cried Bazanski ; “ why the 
town is full of it.” And the ex-officer waxed hot 
with excitement. “ You would scarcely believe it,” • 
he cried, “ but there are those, actually, who take this 
cut-throat’s part against you — respectable people — 
nay, even Poles, I am ashamed to say ! ” 

“ Who, for instance ? ” inquired the mandatar, 
apparently unconcerned, but his heart was beating 
in spite of him. 

“ Well, there is that old demagogue, who ought to 
know better, being a lawyer — Dr. Starkowski, I mean 
— to begin with. This very morning we were sitting 
here, some twenty of us, and some one started the 
matter. My stars, you should have heard him ! 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 


271 


* Gentlemen,’ lie said, quite solemnly, as though he 
were on his oath, ‘ 1 know this Taras ; he is the 
most unselfish, the noblest man I have ever met, 
and filled with a passion for justice which would 
grace a king. And that this man, with the views 
he holds, had nothing left but to turn hajdamak, 
must make every honest man blush for our country. 
It is my opinion that this noble-hearted fellow has 
been morally murdered, and his murderer is the 
mandatar of Zulawce.’ ' And the others, so far from 
contradicting him, clamoured for more. ‘ Tell us, 
Doctor, tell us all about it,’ they cried. And he 
gave them a long rigmarole of a story about a field, 
and perjury, and what not; and when he had 
finished — ‘ Humph,’ said the others, ‘ why, if it is 
so, Mr. Hajek is just a blackguard.’ ‘He is/ 
affirmed the brazen-faced lawyer. Such is the 
world ! ” 

“ Such — is — the world ! ” repeated Hajek, absently, 
and white as a ghost. It was plain there was 
nothing left for him now but to make his speedy 
escape. The laborious edifice of his wickedness was 
tottering, and threatening to bury him in its ruins. 
But whither should he turn? He gazed into his 
future helplessly. . . . 

“ Such, indeed, is the world,” repeated Bazanski, 
eagerly ; “ and there were those present who said — 
‘ Dear, dear, it is a mercy to learn that before it is 
too late ! ’ Those, you understand, who hitherto 
would have considered you an eligible son-in-law — 
conceited fools ! — as if you ever would have looked 
at any of their daughters — you, whose heart is 
adamant even to a countess.” 

Hajek turned to him with a start, his face flushing 
crimson. He had racked his brain for a way out of 
his plight, but had forgotten all about this possibility, 
in his very grasp if he chose ! Three different estates 


272 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


in the lowlands, beyond the reach of Taras — what a 
splendid match to be sure ! If he married the 
countess he need not give another thought to his 
master in Paris, nor to that wretch of an “ avenger,” 
nor yet to all the respectable folk at Colomea. And 
this grandest of chances had almost escaped him ! 

“ Well,” cried the wily Thaddeus, “ I do like your 
pretending to be taken by surprise ; as if you did not 
know how desperately the amiable Countess Wanda 
is in love with you.” And he began to describe the 
secret par -Ion of that lady with such glowing 
colours, that any writer of love sonnets might have 
envied him. “ And there is her great fortune 
besides,” he said, in conclusion ; “ but that is a mere 
accessory. First love, and then the practical ad- 
vantages.” 

Mr. Hajek had recovered himself. “ Don’t talk 
rubbish,” he said, sharply. “ The countess is not 
likely to love me, being too — too experienced to 
make a fool of herself ; and, besides, I am an utter 
stranger to her. If she intends to marry me it is 
simply because she is in want of a husband, and if I 
take her it will be because it happens to suit me. So 
it is a clear case of the practical advantage first and 
foremost ; that settled, there may be love, for all I 
care. What about the property and the settle- 
ment? I daresay you have been instructed. . . . 
I don’t want any flourishes ; just let me know 
the facts.” 

Thaddeus de Bazanski was of an adaptable nature. 
“ Just the facts ! Yes, certainly,” he said. “ There 
are three estates, as you know — Horkowka, Drin- 
kowce,and Rossow — quite unencumbered — will fetch 
in the market half a million florins any day ; the 
personal property, besides, amounting to one hundred 
thousand florins in first-rate securities.” 

“ Very well; and now for the conditions.” 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 273 

“ The Bossow estate, on your marriage, will be 
settled on the countess, of course, but you will have 
equal rights to the revenues for your life ; Horkowka, 
in reversion, on the countess alone ; while Drinkowce 

and the floating capital will be settled on — on ” 

Bazanski stammered and blushed. 

“ On the lady’s child by her first marriage — I 
understand,” said Hajek quietly. “But now for my 
conditions ! I am quite agreed concerning Bossow 
and Horkowka ; but the boy has to be provided for 
out of the personal property solely, while Drinkowce 
must be settled on me absolutely. It shall be 
mine, whether there be any offspring of the marriage 
or not ; and it is to remain mine even in the event 
of a dissolution.” 

“ Humph ! old Bogdan is no fool ! ” 

“ Quite sure of that ; but neither am I ! When 
shall I look for an answer? ” 

“ To-morrow at noon. Shall we have another 
bottle now on the strength of the prospects ? ” 

“ No, not now; go and make sure of the prospects. 
Good evening to you.” 

Bazanski gazed after the retreating figure with posi- 
tive awe. “ Ugh ! ” he said at length, with a deep breath 
of admiration, “ they were not far wrong this morning. 
What a villain ! what an incomparable villain ! ” 
And, having thus unburdened his mind, he hastened 
away to the Villa Antoniewicz. . . . 

At noon punctually the following day he presented 
himself again to Mr. Hajek. “ I have come to con- 
gratulate you ! ” he cried on the threshold. 

“ Well, has your patron accepted my conditions ? ” 
“ Entirely — excepting only Drinkowce. He is 

very sorry, but his little grandson ” 

“ Very well, that settles it. Excuse me, but I 
am busy, intending to start to-night.” 

“ Start ! where to? ” 


12 * 


274 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ To— anywhere, so long as it is far enough from 
here.” 

“ Then do not be in such a hurry ! Let me have 
another word with the family.” 

“ Very well. I will give you till to-morrow, but 
I cannot be detained beyond that.” 

Thaddy departed on his errand sadly, there was 
little hope of earning his pay . He was almost certain 
that Herr von Antoniewicz would prove unyielding ; 
hut it turned out differently. The Countess, in the 
first place, chose to pronounce in the intended 
bridegroom’s favour. “ He is good-looking, tolerably 
young, of good manners, and sufficiently a man of 
the world not to annoy me with any prejudice ! ” 
Her father arrived at a similar conclusion. “ The 
fellow is of suitable stuff to manage the estates ; 
whether Drinkowce be his or not, it will be his 
interest to pull along with us. I am old now, and 
cannot wait till as great a booby as your first husband 
may chance to turn up as a suitor for your hand. 
I would prefer an honest booby, of course ; but a 
clever villain meanwhile must not be despised. He 
shall not do me. I’ll take care of that ! ” 

And the following morning, Thaddeus, with a 
beaming face, burst into the mandatar’s presence. 
“Now I may congratulate you really,” he cried. 
“ Drinkowce is yours ! ” 

“Very well,” responded Hajek. “I am off on 
the spot to pay my respects to my future father-in- 
law, and to my bride-elect. One thing, though, 
before I leave, you will hold your tongue for the 
present. I might find it useful to be believed in as 
a man of honour by some of the folk here yet 
awhile ! ” 

“ What a delightful joke ! ” cried Thaddy, full of 
laughter, and brandishing the famous confederatka 
as he made his bow. But when the door had 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 275 

closed upon him, an expression of admiring awe 
once more settled on his features. “ What a 
villain ! ” he murmured, “ what an incomparable 
villain ! ” 

Mr. Hajek’s visit at the villa proved highly 
touching ; that supreme moment especially, when, 
in his capacity of accepted lover, he imprinted a 
delicate kiss on the fair one’s brow, a proceeding at 
which Herr and Frau von Antoniewicz tossed their 
handkerchiefs before their tearless eyes, whimpering 
affectedly, “ Be happy, children ; as happy as we 
ourselves have been! ” 

When the mandatar returned to his chambers he 
found on his table a note from the district governor. 
“ Favour me with a call at my private residence at 
once,” it said ; “I have a communication of im- 
portance to make to you.” Hajek was surprised, 
and slightly fluttered. The die was cast, his future 
secured, and if he stayed prudently at Colomea he 
had scarcely anything to fear from Taras. And yet he 
trembled. What if Taras had been caught, and he 
had sacrificed himself in vain — allowing a lady of 
the countess’s antecedents to address him as her 
promised husband? Well, never mind, it was im- 
possible to go back now, considering the manner of 
his courting. He had cast in his lot with these 
creatures and must abide by it. 

With a sense of expectation he went his way 
to the governor’s. Herr von Bauer received him 
politely. He was one of those officials, rather 
numerous at that time, who considered abruptness 
a sort of armour to be worn during office hours, hut 
not required when off duty. The district governor was 
quite genial within the precincts of his own fireside, 
and all the more courteous now for remember- 
ing that he had put forth some special bristles along 
with that armour in his previous interview with 


276 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


the mandatar. “ A pleasure to see you,” he assured 
Mr. Hajek, shaking hands vigorously. li I have some 
important news which will please you,” he said, 
winking mysteriously — “ please you particularly.” 

“ Has Taras been caught?” inquired the mandatar. 

“Caught? Dear me, no! Why, who should 
have caught him? . . . This is what I wanted to 
tell you : You know the court sat to-day. We had 
an unusual influx of landed proprietors and man- 
datars, and there was much talking concerning 
Taras ; in fact he seems the one topic all over the 
country. They all agreed that his rising was most 
dangerous, because the peasantry everywhere are 
devoted to him. There could be no doubt, they 
assured me, but that the manor house at Zulawce 
would be attacked on Sunday, and if he got hold of 
you, your life was not worth two straws — not two 
straws, they said ! ” 

“Well,” said the mandatar, with affected com- 
posure, “ this may be important to know, but I fail 
to see why it should please me.” 

“ No, no, of course, the pleasant part is coming — 
for yourself I mean, not for me. I hate having 
things done in an irregular way. But I suppose 
this is an exception.” A groan escaped him. 
“Well, sir, I called a meeting of the board — a 
special meeting, and it was resolved to treat the 
case as a matter of unusual importance, attending 
to it, therefore, on the spot — an example of despatch 
quite unprecedented in my experience, I assure 
you. A commissioner will be sent to Zulawce as 
early as next Tuesday — we" must, if possible, have 
an exact report of that speech — and a courier went 
off this very afternoon to inform the brigadier-general 
at Stanislaw of the state of affairs, submitting to him 
the necessity of ordering a company of infantry 
to Zulawce. This I am sure ” 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 277 

“Is pleasant to know! so it is,” interrupted the 
mandatar. “ But might I suggest ” 

“Yes, certainly; suggest away, sir,” said the 
governor, waxing impatient. There had been a 
sound of teacups from the adjoining apartment. 

“ It appears to be a general conviction that the 
manor house at Zulawce is to be attacked on the 
night of Easter Sunday. In that case the military, 
in order to be of any use should arrive at the place 
on Sunday afternoon. But this is scarcely possible 
if it be infantry. This is Thursday. The courier, 
at the earliest, will reach Stanislaw at daybreak 
to-morrow. Now, supposing even the general 
attended to the matter at once, and made out his 
order to the soldiers by ten ” 

“Ora quarter past,” interrupted the governor, 
rushing into his office armour evidently. “ What 
are you driving at, sir?” 

“ You will see presently,” retorted the mandatar, 
nettled in his turn. “ Supposing the general made 
out his order to the nearest regiment of infantry by 
ten o’clock, a detachment could not be off under four- 
and-twenty hours, for they are quartered at Czortkow, 
and it will be a two days’ march for them to reach 
their destination — by Monday morning at the 
earliest, that is. So, you see, the village could only 
be protected against Sunday by means of the Palffy 
hussars, who are at Zablotow, close at hand.” 

“ Sir,” growled the governor, “ are you fooling 
me ? Am I the brigadier-general ? I am governor 
of this district, and my business is to apply for 
military intervention if need be, but not to ask for 
cavalry or artillery when there are no means of 
stabling the horses. There are no large stables at 
Zulawce, so it must be infantry. They shall be 
there when they can ; or do you expect us to intro- 
duce new regulations into the country just to suit 


278 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


your need ? What do you mean by directing my 
attention to the distance, or to the length of time 
a detachment will be on the march ? Am I supposed 
to know that ? Am I in the general’s coat to give 
his orders? ” 

“ No — in your own smoking cap and slippers,” 
replied the mandatar quietly, the words acting like 
magic. The old growler suddenly remembered that 
he was not in his office, but at home, where civility 
was due to a caller. And he put off his armour 
hastily. 

“ Well — a case of unusual importance, I was 
saying. . . .” The poor old gentleman felt guilty, 
however, and was anxious to make reparation. 
“It is a trouble altogether — this Taras — but 
I was going to add, I have invited some of our 
people to dine with us on Sunday, and if you will 
do me the honour, we shall be charmed, sir.” 

He held out his hand to Mr. Hajek who put his 
fingers into it eagerly. An invitation to the district 
governor’s annual dinner when all the elite of the 
place was assembled would have flattered him at any 
time ; but to a man who had just become engaged to 
a lady of the Countess Wanda’s reputation this was 
simply invaluable. . . . 

“ So far he has not heard of it, evidently,” the 
bridegroom elect said to himself as he descended the 
stairs. “ I daresay it will be no secret by Sunday, 
and it will be as well for me to be seen then at the 
governor’s dinner ! However, I need not care now 
for anybody’s opinion, any more than I need for 
Taras himself. It was foolish of me to excite my- 
self at all about the military movements. What 
does it matter to me whether the Count’s manor 
house be burnt or not, so long as myself and my 
cash-box are safe out of it ? ” 

He was still pursuing this high-minded strain of 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 


279 


thought, when, at the end of the street, he came into 
collision with a figure rushing round the corner in 
the opposite direction. But he saw at a glance that 
apologies were needless, for it was only Thaddy 
whom he had sent flying against the wall. 

‘‘Oh, to be sure,” cried the latter, rubbing his. 
shoulder, “ what eagerness in a lover ! Borneo going 
to visit Juliet, I’ll be bound.” 

“ Oh no, I am going home ; but you, I daresay, 
are making for the cellars ? ” 

“ Alas ! I am not in the vein. I was lost in 
meditation, remembering a certain conversation I 
once had with my illustrious half-brother, Nicolas I., 

and how my life since ” 

“ Nicolas I. ! You don’t mean to say that this is 
Thursday ? I really was forgetting. . . . But let me 
tell you, if you do go to the cellars and should not 
find any of your friends in the mood to treat you to 
a glass of Moldavian for your story about Nicolas, I’ll 
not have you try your luck by publishing my engage- 
ment with the countess ! If you breathe a word of 
it, I shall deduct fifty florins from your expected pay. 
Just bear that in mind. Good morning ! ” 

The Czar’s half-brother stood stock still, overtaken 
by an evident conflict. For Bogdan had just told 
him, “If by this time to-morrow the whole town 
is not aware of the engagement, I’ll have you kicked 
downstairs when next you show your face here.” 
A sore dilemma for the nobly-born Thaddy — to be 
kicked downstairs or forego fifty of his hard-earned 
florins ! He would have submitted to the kicking 
willingly, so long as it left him at liberty to remount 
those stairs after the performance. ... 

In a distracted state of mind, Thaddy entered the 
cellars, but the company there was in good humour, 
greeting him uproariously. “ Good heavens,” they 
cried, “ are we to stand treat for hearing your romances 


280 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


about Nicolas — this is Thursday ! ” He could not, 
of course, submit to this taunt, and resolved, therefore, 
for once to keep to realities, giving them an account 
of the mandatar’s latest achievement, the plain 
truth of it, with some exceedingly daring interpola- 
tions. But when he added : “This Mr. Hajek is a 
villain ingrained, sirs ! ” there was not one to dissent 
from the statement. 

Towards noon the following day the mandatar set 
out to repeat his call at the villa, saying to himself 
as he crossed his threshold : “I shall know 
within ten minutes whether Thaddy has kept 
the matter close or not.” And he did know 
before he had gone the length of the street ! 
The secretary of the local board, Mr. Wroblewski, 
was the first acquaintance he met ; but this gentle- 
man appeared to have made a sudden discovery upon 
the roof of the town hall, which required his in- 
tentest gaze in that direction, whilst the chief post- 
master, Nossek, another of his acquaintances coming 
along, was lost in a contemplation of the paving- 
stones, quite overlooking the mandatar in con- 
sequence. This was a cut to the heart ; but Hajek 
recovered himself very soon, holding his head erect 
and stepping out courageously. “ Once settled at 
Drinkowce,” he consoled himself, “these things 
will show in a different light.” 

He was met in the Armenian’s ante-chamber by 
the chosen bride herself ; she walked slowly, not for 
sweet modesty’s sake, but only because she was 
rather fat. That was a drawback to her charms ; 
for the rest she had sparkling eyes and a rare 
wig of golden hair, slightly reddish though. She 
was in her ripest prime, like a cabbage-rose in 
September, when the perfume of spring has fled 
and the petals have expanded, the season of sweet- 
ness being gone. 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 


281 


He kissed her hands, she offered him her face. 
“ Come,” she whispered, “my parents await you, to 
settle the programme for Sunday.” 

They were soon agreed that since the engagement 
was certain not to remain a secret even till then, 
it behoved them to act a little drama of innocence 
before the eyes of their guests. “We shall not 
ask many people ; just a select few,” said Frau von 
Antoniewicz, Mr. Hajek agreeing to this fervently, 
well knowing that not a dozen visitors would be 
found forthcoming, if pressed ever so hard. 

“ And now the programme for the evening,” re- 
sumed the lady — “ a select few ; we shall talk and 
have some music, but no dancing. When the clock 
strikes ten my daughter will take her place by the 
piano to give us an air of Cherubini’s, after which 
you move up to her, complimenting her on her 
exquisite voice ; and, giving her your arm, you will 
lead her into the smaller drawing-room, where the 
illumination will be appropriately subdued. I shall 
have some things up from the conservatory — palms 
and things, to represent a bower; a fauteuil will be 
placed conveniently, and a low stool beside it. 
Wanda will sink gracefully into the fauteuil ; you 
will be at her feet on the stool — it will be quite a 
picture, and there will be a whispering among the 
company. This will be the moment when you 
must kneel, gazing at her adoringly ; she will 
start up, endeavouring to escape. — It will be pretty 
if you can manage a blush, my dear ; it is easy, 
you know, if you hold your breath. — I shall be 
crossing the room accidentally, and shall give a 
startled cry ; whereupon you will take my daughter 
by the hand, leading her up to me, saying, ‘ Best of 
mothers, give us your blessing,’ or some such suit- 
able words. I shall be greatly touched, and shall 
say something appropriate. So will Bogdan. Then 


282 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


we shall have supper ; a few toasts will have to be 
managed : long life to the lovers, and you must 
reply, lifting your glass to Bogdan and me.” 

“And then the curtain will fall,” said Hajek, at 
which the wrinkled dame lifted her finger saucily. 
“ My dear Mr. Hajek,” she said, “the whole of life 
is hut a comedy ; who thinks differently is a fool. 
Then why should I not arrange this little scene 
before the closing act of my own life as merrily as I 
please, and you just be satisfied ! ” 

“ Certainly,” he said; “ but I will stipulate for a 
comfortable hassock to kneel upon.” 

They laughed and went to the dining-room. . . . 

Considering how he was being cut by every one in 
the streets, the mandatar would not have been in 
the least surprised to receive some excuse from the 
district governor cancelling the invitation to his 
dinner. But no message came, for the simple 
reason that Herr von Bauer had quite forgotten he 
had asked the mandatar, and had not even told his 
wife. The governor, therefore, was disagreeably 
surprised when, at the appointed hour, Mr. Hajek 
presented himself among his guests, while the 
‘ district governess * — as his wife, on account of her 
overbearing ways, was often called by her jocose 
acquaintances — flared up crimson with annoyance. 
It seemed to her as if the eyes of all present were 
filled with angry reproaches. The fact was, the 
mandatar had arrived at the very moment when the 
company was enjoying the newest bit of scandal, 
having learned by this time how he and the 
Countess Wanda, with the help of Thaddy, had 
discovered their secret flame. It was an awkward 
interruption ; not the least so for Hajek himself. 
But he was the only one who showed any 
presence of mind. He made his bow to the com- 
pany, some staring back at him utterly surprised, 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 283 

some completely disgusted ; and having kissed the 
unwilling hand of the lady of the house, he seized the 
paralysed fingers of her lord, shaking hands with a 
fine pretence of unconcern. Herr von Bauer, of 
course, submitted, greeting him with a smile even — 
“ a smile, upon my word,” said the witty Wrob- 
lewski, “ like that of a convict being tickled.” The 
governor was endeavouring to do his duty. “Ah,” 
he said, “ I am surprised. . . . ahem, delighted 
to see you. . . . very. . . . ah ! ” ' 

And then he recovered himself, perceiving that he 
owed it to his wife to take upon himself the onus of 
this man’s presence, and that he could not expect 
any of his guests to entertain him. “Dearest 
Cornelia,” he was heard to say, “ I am sure it slipped 
my memory, but I invited Mr. Hajek — I asked 
him on Thursday — on Thursday , you know,” he 
added, pointedly, “ and I am afraid I am going to 
monopolise him on account of important business” — 
the mandatar keeping up his most amiable smile. 

He drew him into a corner. “ I have heard this 
morning from the brigadier-general by special 
messenger. A detachment of infantry has been 
despatched to Zulawce, and will arrive there on Mon- 
day as you calculated. But the general, besides this, 
has thought well to order the hussars to be there by 
this evening, just as you proposed. He thinks it is 
as well to be on the safe side.” 

“ Very commendable prudence, no doubt, since 

Taras seems determined ” 

“ Determined ? What is that to us ! Who ever 
heard of cavalry being ordered to a place where 
they find no stabling ! It is no joke to disregard 
established rules — none whatever ! But I wash my 
hands of any consequences — I do, indeed ! ” 

“ And may I ask who will be sent on Tuesday, as 
you said, as your commissioner ? ” 


284 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ Kapronski. Well! what is that grimace for? 
We do things in proper order. He conducted 
the inquiry there on the former occasion, he may 
therefore be expected to be the man for it now. 
But — a happy thought ! — I am sure you could give 
him a hint or two.” 

The governor rubbed his hands ; it seemed a 
bright idea to set the two least welcome of his 
guests at each other, thus rendering them harmless 
for the rest of the company. And he gave a sign to 
Kapronski, who obeyed with alacrity ; for if it was an 
honour to be invited to the governor’s official dinner, 
it had, so far, not yielded him any pleasure. The 
company was apt to overlook him, and people would 
appear to labour under deafness when he addressed 
them. But being called upon to enter into conver- 
sation with Mr. Hajek was like being lifted on to a 
pedestal ; for certainly this man stood lower now in 
the public estimation than even Kapronski himself. 
So he approached him accordingly, drawing up his 
fawning figure and assuming an expression of 
patronage ludicrous to behold. 

“You have a favour to ask of me?” he began 
pompously. 

The mandatar gave him a look of cutting sarcasm. 
“ You are mistaken, sir ! ” 

“ I— I misunderstood — a request to make ? ” 
Kapronski could not stand being looked at 
boldly, and was slipping down from his pedestal 
rapidly. 

“Nor yet a request, that I am aware,” returned 
Hajek. “ The governor asked my opinion, or any 
advice I could give, concerning the personal safety 
of the commissioner about to be despatched to 
Zulawce, and I am ready to advise you.” The 
mandatar had some trouble in keeping serious, 
for Kapronski’s features, besides recovering their 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 285 

wonted humility at a stroke as it were, presented a 
ludicrous picture of most doleful dismay. 

“ Personal safety,” he stammered, “ why, is there 
any danger ? ” 

“ A great deal,” said Hajek, confidently. 
Kapronski’s face turned white, and red, and ashy 
grey. “ I shall have an escort,” he faltered ; “ but 
if Taras should attack us on the road, I am a dead 

man ! There is no help ” 

His voice positively failed him. 

“ None whatever,” assented themandatar. “ Stop — 
yes, there is,” he added, a sudden thought having 
flashed through him — indeed a capital thought, so 
simple and so clever withal that he was surprised it 
should not have presented itself before. “ There 
is ! ” he said. 

“ Is there? ” returned Kapronski, eagerly. 

“ Yes, indeed ! a sure means of saving yourself 
and me, and all honest folks from this cut-throat. 
Let me remind you that his wife and children are 
still at his farm. It will be natural, then, to billet 
most of the soldiers upon her. But this is not 
enough ! You must tell her that she will have to 
answer for it on the gallows if her husband hurts a 
hair of the mandatar’s head — be sure and say the 
mandat ar’s ! She is in communication with him , no 

doubt, and ” 

“ But this would be illegal ! ” 

“ Well, that is for you to judge. I only give you 
a hint or two, out of kindness. It is you who have 
to go to Zulawce, not I ! ” 

“Ah!” groaned Kapronski, “ if it should get 
known, it would cost me my place.” 

“ Well, tell her without witnesses, then you can 
give her the lie, if need be. For the rest do as you 
please — I am safe enough here.” 

The conversation was interrupted, the governor 


286 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


inviting his guests to move to the dining-room. 
“I have thought,” he said, addressing the pair, “it 
might be most agreeable for each of you if we put 
you together.” 

Kapronski bowed more humbly than ever, Hajek 
smiling blandly. He had made up his mind to let 
everybody feel mortified, but not himself— he was 
not going to be annoyed, not he ! And he carried 
out his resolution ; easier for him, no doubt, than for 
a man of higher mettle. 

He drove home in the best of humours, and how 
he whiled away the rest of his time, attuning his 
mind for the events of the evening, we have had a 
glimpse of already. We need not describe the solem- 
nities at the villa, touching as they were, for we 
know the programme, which was minutely followed. 
There were not many to witness the scene; but 
the old dame had set her heart on the play- 
acting, and the mandatar, to please her, fell in 
with her fancy. The manner of his kneeling to 
Wanda was quite classical, and supper was con- 
sumed amid charming hilarity, not forgetting some 
wonderful verses with which Thaddy astonished 
the company. 

But when the guests had departed, a final and real 
surprise was in store for the happy bridegroom. He 
was cooling his brow at the open window, when 
suddenly he perceived his coachman, Jasko, in 
conversation with a horseman a little way up the 
road. He could see that the stranger wore the 
Huzul garb. The night was dark, and a faint gleam 
only from the lighted house fell on the road, but 
Hajek nevertheless recognised the horseman. 
“ Good heavens ! ” he shrieked, “ stop him ! Seize 
him ! ” 

Bogdan and the countess rushed up terrified ; 
but the stranger also had heard the alarm, and 


FLOURISHING LIKE A BAY-TREE. 287 

spurring his horse, he dashed away and was lost to 
sight. 

“ My coachman ! I entreat you send for my 
coachman!” cried Hajek, beside himself. Jasko was 
called in. “That was Wassilj Soklewicz you were 
talking with just now ? ” said the mandatar, 
quaking. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the man, wonderingly. 

“ Don’t you know he is one of the outlaws — one 
of Taras’s hand ? ” 

“ Mercy on us ! ” cried the coachman, aghast. 
“ He assured me he had taken service with the 
mandatar at Prinkowce, and I believed him, telling 
him all about ourselves on Tuesday and Thursday 
and this evening. I told him : ‘We need not fear 
Taras now, for we are going to marry a rich lady, 
and shall live at Drinkowce. In the meantime, we 
are quite safe at Colomea.’ At which he laughed, 
telling me there was no saying what might 
happen between now and the wedding ; indeed 
soon ” 

“ Soon ! soon ! ” groaned the mandatar, falling 
back on a chair. It chanced to be the fauteuil 
near the palms and things. The comedy was being 
changed into tragedy. 

Bogdan recovered himself first. “ I do not 
believe,” he said, “ that Taras is in the neighbour- 
hood and likely to attack you in your chambers or 
on your way back to the town ; but we will hold 
ourselves prepared for the worst. Stay here for the 
night. I’ll have the gates closed, my men can be 
armed, and I will send for assistance to the main 
guardhouse.” 

And so he did, but the protection he was able to 
hold out to his worthy son-in-law proved of the 
poorest nevertheless. The officer on duty sent back 
orders not to trouble him with idle tales ; and, con- 


288 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


cerning his own servants, Bogdan knew that they 
would throw down their arms at the first sight 
of danger. 

“ If Taras indeed were to come, I cannot protect 
you,” he confessed to the raandatar. " We are not 
without neighbours, but none of them would stir 
to help us.” 

And with this agreeable assurance they kept 
watching through the night. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE BANNER UNFURLED. 

T HE excitement of the people of Zulawce rose 
steadily as the Easter sun was sinking to its 
rest. The cottages stood forsaken ; the community 
had gathered beneath the linden. The men were 
fully armed and many a fierce threat was uttered 
against the “ villain in the iron closet ” ; but the 
peasants seemed fully resolved to take no part 
whatever in the coming work of revenge. 

None of the inmates or dependents of the manor- 
house were present. The under-steward, Boleslaw, 
had ordered the gates to be closed, addressing his 
men in the courtyard. “ Let us not act foolishly,” 
he said. “ There is no doubt but that Taras will 
come, since the report of the iron closet is so fully 
believed in; hut he will not harm us, if we 
open the doors to him to let him see that there 
is no such thing as an iron closet in the place, 
and that the mandatar is not with us. Our only 
fear is that the peasantry may grow revengeful, 
and attack us when he is gone. Let us be ready to 
resist them, but we will not fight Taras.” 

Nor had any of Anusia’s people joined the public 
gathering ; her orders had been sufficient. She 
herself was sitting in the large family-room, holding 
little Tereska on her lap, while her boys pressed close 
to her with an indefinable fear. The children dared 
13 


290 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


not speak, for the mother seemed sunk in that 
strange stupor which had kept her to the bed of 
sickness hut lately. 

Father Leo and the little popadja found her thus. 
A greeting was exchanged, hut conversation would 
not flow. It was impossible to talk of indifferent 
matters, and they shrank from touching upon that 
which filled their hearts. So they sat silent, a red 
light streaming in through the windows; for the 
sun, like a glowing hall of fire, was sinking behind 
the fir-covered uplands. 

“How red it looks,” whispered little Wassilj, 
pointing to the parting glory. 

“ It forbodes blood,” said Halko, under his breath. 

“ Blood,” echoed the poor mother with staring 
eyes, pressing her children closer. 

Father Leo could bear it no longer. He went 
near to her, taking her hand gently. “ Anusia,” he 
said, “ do you believe ? ” 

“ What do I know,” she interrupted him, sharply. 
“Am I of the avenger’s band? I am a widow, 
anxious to keep the peace for my children’s 
sake.” 

Leo paced the room. “ That is well,” he said, 
presently. “I wish all the people were like you. 
They say they will not join him, but I fear their 
own wild disposition will be too much for them.” 

Anusia made no answer, and he sat down again in 
silence. Thus they continued, amid the sinking 
shadows, in the darkening room. 

But suddenly they started, and the children gave 
a cry of alarm. There had been a tapping at the 
window which overlooked the garden. It was the 
window to the west catching the last glimmer of 
light ; no one outside was visible, but as they gazed 
a hand was lifted cautiously from below, once more 
tapping the pane. 


THE BANNER UNFURLED. 291 

“ It is father! ’* cried the children, and the pope 
rose. 

“ Hush, children/* said Anusia, in a whisper, but 
so impressively that they forthwith obeyed. ‘ ‘ Please 
keep quiet, Father Leo. It is not Taras, hut his 
messenger ... sit still ... I am his wife and 
must answer when he calls.*’ 

Another tap, and Anusia glided from the room. 
They heard the outer door creak on its hinges, and 
knew she was in the garden. 

The children fell to sobbing, but the popadja put 
her arms round them, beginning to say her prayers, 
good soul. Leo had risen, listening intently ; but 
not a sound was heard till the firm footstep of the 
returning woman fell on their ear. She entered, 
carrying a lamp in her hand. They could see her 
face; the old look of icy calm had once more settled 
on it. 

“ Is it good news? ” questioned Leo, eagerly. 

“Yes — that is to say in some respects.” She 
smiled bitterly. “ Anyhow, pope, you will he able 
to do a good service to your parishioners.” 

“ I am most willing — what is it ? *’ 

“ Go and tell them to go home quietly, for their 
own sakes.” 

“ I have told them, and tried my best already. 
Will you tell me what Taras ? ” 

“ No,” she said, fiercely ; “ I must have inter- 
course with him — I am his wife ; but no one else 
shall, if I can prevent it. Try yet again, pope; for 
God’s sake, do !*’ 

Father Leo saw his wife home, and hastened to 
join his expectant parishioners. But the people 
insisted they must see Taras storm the castle ; he 
was doing it as their own avenger ; how should they 
forbear? The long hours of waiting, and the 
quantity of spirits which had been consumed, had 


292 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


but added to their excitement ; exhortation availed 
not, and with a sigh the pope desisted. 

It was between ten and eleven in the evening. 
Away in the district town the mandatar was about 
to undergo the graceful process of kneeling to the 
Countess Wanda. The night lay deep and still on 
mountain and plain. 

A strange sound broke on the stillness, indistinct 
at first, but gaining in force. It was as though a 
mighty waterfall somewhere in the distance had 
suddenly begun to roar. 

“ Hark ! ” cried a hundred voices, “ what is it ? ” 
“ He is coming!” exclaimed the butcher. “No; 
listen ! ” said another. 

The noise grew perceptibly, as though volumes 
of water were being added to that far-off cataract. 
The upland echoes awoke in response, and it was 
difficult to say whence the sound proceeded. 

“ A host of them coming from the mountains ! ” 
decided one, presently. “No, from the plains — 
listen ! ” cried another. 

It was like a low rumble of thunder, in the 
direction of the river unmistakably. The very 
ground began to vibrate, and the dull noise ever 
and anon was broken by the quick, sharp sound of 
a trumpet. 

“Horsemen!” a voice cried suddenly. “The 
hussars ! Save yourselves.” “ No, stay,” burst in 
another; “who should forbid our standing here 
quietly?” “Save yourselves!” and the cry was 
taken up repeatedly ; “ these hussars are worse 
than the devil ! ” 

But the people seemed nailed to the spot, some 
pushing this way, some that ; the enclosing dark- 
ness, the state of semi-drunkenness most were in, and 
a knowledge that a squadron of soldiers was burst- 
ing upon them, robbed them of all self-possession. 


I'HE BANNER UNFURLED. 


293 


“ Go to your homes,” the pope kept crying, 
pairingly. He had caught hold of the torch 
which served to illumine the inn, and wildly urged 
the people. But it seemed too late. Already the 
first of the soldiers, four horsemen in advance of 
the troop, had reached the place, pulling up their 
steeds at the near sight of the heaving, howling 
mass of villagers. Two of the hussars lifted their 
pistols, firing into the air. 

The shots hit no one, but took full effect on the 
excited minds, producing a wild panic in some, 
rousing rage and defiance in others. “ Save your- 
selves,” was heard again. “ We are not going to 
be killed like sheep ; take to your guns, men ! ” 
roared others, and bloodshed appeared unavoidable. 

The imminent danger inspired Father Leo with 
an unwonted power. He forced a way through the 
people with his right arm, some falling back before 
the blazing torch in his left, and thus he got to 
the head of the crowd just as the body of soldiers 
galloped up the street, led by an officer, sword in 
hand. It was Captain Mihaly ; and at the sight of 
the pale man in priestly dress, standing with a 
flaring torch between the approaching horse and 
the overtaken crowd, he called to his men to stop. 
The troop halted almost face to face with the people. 
“ Surrender ! ” exclaimed the officer. 

But Father Leo lifted his hands. “ Sir captain,” 
he cried in German, his voice rising above the 
turmoil behind him, “ this is not the band of Taras, 
but only the people of this village ; they will disperse 
at once.” 

“ Then the bandit is not among you?” 

“ No ! ” 

“But your people seem to be waiting for him — to 
assist him, I daresay.” 

“ No ; it is their curiosity only.” 


294 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ I’ll teach them better, then ! Tell them I give 
them five minutes’ grace, after which time my men 
will have leave to cut down any one about the 
streets at this late hour.” 

The pope repeated the orders in the people’s own 
language ; shrieks and curses were the answer. 
But, even though they might have been willing, most 
of the people could not at once free themselves from 
the struggling crowd, and some refused to stir, in 
sheer defiance if not for love of fight. The pope kept 
urging, but in vain. A few only escaped ; the confu- 
sion was no wise diminished. 

The captain’s patience appeared exhausted. The 
word was given, the trumpet sounded, and, brandish- 
ing their sabres, the hussars charged the crowd, 
which fell back amid a deafening tumult of shrieks 
and groans and efforts of resistance. Father Leo 
was flung against the inn, his head striking the door- 
post so violently that he staggered bleeding and 
stunned with the blow. He was unable to see what 
happened, for the darkness seemed denser than 
before, but the sounds which fell on his ear filled 
him with dismay. He had suffered much of late, 
but trouble seemed culminating now. 

He could not quite tell how long it lasted; the 
noise decreased, the hussars making their way 
towards the farms ; presently there was silence, save 
for the groans of some who evidently had been hurt 
in the fray. His own head was bleeding and his 
limbs felt heavy, but he shook off the lethargy, and 
pushing open the door of the inn called for help. 

There was no answer. Some few had taken 
refuge in the parlour, and the innkeeper’s family were 
hiding in corners ; the pope had to repeat his calling, 
and then only a lad appeared with a rushlight in his 
trembling hand. 

The pope made his way into the house, conjuring 


THE BANNER UNFURLED. 


295 


the frightened people to lend him their assistance. 
A couple of torches were lighted and reluctant help 
was given. Matters outside were not quite so had 
as Father Leo had anticipated. Five only were 
lying there, more or less severely wounded : four vil- 
lagers and one of the hussars. The latter evidently 
was in the worst plight, a bulletin an almost hand- 
to-hand encounter, had gone through his shoulder. 
Father Leo saw to him first, ordering him to be 
moved into the inn. An old man was attended to 
next, he had a sabre-cut on his forehead. The 
other three were women who had fallen beneath the 
hoofs of the horses, but were not badly hurt. 

Leo set himself to bind up the wounds as well as 
he could, aided by Avrumko and Maxym Bobra, a 
soldier on furlough; and while they were thus 
occupied the troop of horsemen were heard returning. 
A trumpet sounded. “ The signal for dismounting,” 
whispered Maxym to the pope, and almost imme- 
diately the door of the inn parlour was flung open. 
The officer entered, followed by some half-dozen of 
his men. 

“ Bring out torches and some faggots ! ” he cried 
to the innkeeper, turning to give a look at the 
wounded. 

The pope met him. “ Captain,” he said modestly, 
“ it might be well to send a messenger to Zablotow, 
the doctor is badly needed.” 

“ Got our own surgeon,” was the gruff reply ; 
and, having given orders for the military Escula- 
pius to attend, the officer stood over the wounded 
soldier. 

“ Nice sort of 1 curiosity * this on the part of your 
peaceful sheep,” he said, presently. But Father 
Leo forbore answering, busying himself about the 
sufferers. 

The surgeon entered, examined the wounds, and 


m 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


prepared to dress them. “ The peasant will get over 
it,” he said ; “ but this man of ours will hardly do 
so, a bullet having pierced his lung.” 

“ Then the churls shall pay for it, by Jove ! ” 
returned the officer with rising passion; “and so 
shall you, sir pope — you have deceived me ! ” 

Leo looked him in the face quietly. “ I shall be 
ready to answer for anything to-morrow,” he said ; 
“ I will now go along the village street — there may 
he other sufferers.” 

The captain somehow felt disarmed. “ You are 
bleeding yourself, your reverence,” he said more 
gently, almost abashed. 

But Father Leo turned away in silence, leaving 
the inn with Maxym Bobra and one or two other 
men. 

The village, which but lately had been the scene 
of so wild an uproar, lay still as death ; a number of 
soldiers had settled round a watchfire outside the 
inn, a similar guard being stationed in front of the 
manor house. The lurid flames rising from these 
two spots were the only lights visible. The 
sentries patrolling the village with cocked pistols 
found no cause of alarm. Neither did good Father 
Leo, for no one seemed to require his aid except a 
woman lying terror-stricken at her own cottage 
door. 

He went home, poor Fruzia receiving him with 
a cry of horror at the sight of his pale, blood-stained 
countenance. But she, whom lesser troubles 
would readily overpower, now recovered herself, 
courageously. “I will not murmur,” the faithful 
wife was saying, with trembling lips, hastening 
to dress his wound, “ you have but done your duty.” 
Nor did she raise the slightest objection on his 
declaring he would sit up through the night. “ I 
must indeed,” he added, “ I sadly fear we shall hear of 


THE BANNER UNFURLED. 297 

further trouble ; some wounded or dying man may 
send for me.” 

And so it proved. In the small hours of the 
morning a messenger arrived begging him to take 
the sacrament to the smithy, since Marko had not 
many minutes to live. He made all possible speed, 
but death was before him ; the towering giant who 
but a few hours before had spoken so manfully, 
would never lift his chirping voice again. He had 
been foremost among those who opposed the soldiers, 
a sabre-cut had disabled him, and as he endeavoured 
to drag himself home after the fray a bullet caught 
him in the back, inflicting his death-wound. He 
reached the smithy, but only to die. Father Leo 
offered what consolation he could to the bereaved 
widow, who in tearless grief held fast the dead 
man’s hand. “ Peace ! ” she replied, gloomily : “ there 
is but one comfort left ; I shall know how to use 
his gun, and the hour of reckoning will come.” 

Such, indeed, was the frame of mind of most of 
the people when the good pope in the early morning 
went his round of the cottages. Few of the villagers 
had been wounded or hurt, but one and all were 
burning with resentment. And the strange quiet, 
blending with their wrath, appeared to him more 
alarming than the turbulent anger he was accustomed 
to. “ We have suffered wrong,” they said, “ and 
we shall pay it back. We cannot do so without a 
leader, but we may trust Taras. If we waited for 
him in vain last night, it was no doubt because the 
mandatar evidently is not at the house— he would 
have shown his cowardly face under the protection 
of the military if he were hiding in the place ! But 
no matter, Taras will now be coming for our sakes.” 

On the afternoon of Easter Monday a body of 
infantry relieved the hussars, the officer in command 
proving himself both judicious and kind. On learn- 
13 * 


298 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


ing from the pope how matters stood, he readily 
promised to spare the villagers as much as possible ; 
and since the manor house, the protection of which 
was the main object, offered plenty of room, he would 
have the men quartered there — all but a few, at 
least, he added, whom, according to special instruc- 
tions, he would have to billet on Taras’s farm. “ I 
am sorry,” he said, “ to make acquaintance of this 
man’s family in so unpleasant a way, for it went to 
one’s heart to hear him speak of them.” 

“ Do you know Taras ? ” inquired Father Leo, 
wonderingly. 

“Yes. I am Captain Stanczuk, and acted as 
interpreter when he was admitted to the Emperor’s 
presence at Vienna.” 

The peasants looked on with a savage gloom as 
the “Whitecoats” made themselves at home in the 
village, their anger blazing forth when they learned 
that the officer actually was the son of a Podolian 
pope. Anusia received her uninvited guests after a 
similar fashion, treating the officer, first to a wither- 
ing look, and then to her utmost contempt. The 
captain bad come in person, hoping to smooth 
matters, but the woman seemed beyond conciliation. 

Yet she trembled visibly when Father Leo 
whispered to her that her visitor was the same 
captain who had assisted Taras at Vienna, and a 
deep flush overspread her face. 

“ What is it ? ” inquired the pope, surprised. “ He 
is not likely to harm you, seeing he was kind to 
Taras.” 

“Yes, yes,” she groaned; “I am all the more 
sorry for him.” But her lips closed, and the old 
stony expression settled on her face. 

That same evening the two who on the previous day 
had opposed each other so strenuously concerning 
the attitude to be adopted by the village — Wassilj, 


THE BANNER UNFURLED. 299 

the butcher, and Hritzko Pomenko — went from 
farm to farm, from cottage to cottage, evidently ol 
one mind. “ On account of the Whitecoats there 
can be no general meeting,” they said ; “ but 
we ask you individually, Are you satisfied that to- 
morrow morning we should start for the mountains, 
to call hither Taras in the name of the community, 
for the avenging of this wrong? And do you pledge 
yourselves to help him?” Every one of the 
peasants assented, most of them readily, and some 
for very fear of the prevailing opinion. The horizon 
hung heavy with bursting clouds. 

But the pope only heard of it when the two had 
started on the Tuesday, and the good man found 
himself in a painful plight. Should he inform the 
captain, causing more stringent measures to be 
adopted against the village, besides being the means 
of bringing two honest men to grievous punishment? 
Should he keep silence and let the mischief be done? 
He came to see that, of the two evils, this latter 
certainly was the worst, and therefore imparted to 
the officer what was brewing, but without mention- 
ing names. 

The captain smiled. “ I know all about it,” he 
said, “ and more than you tell me. That corporal, 
Constantine Turenko, has been before you, em- 
bellishing his report, no doubt, with even more than 
the truth. But let me assure your reverence that 
my measures have been taken with the utmost cir- 
cumspection ; I hardly needed such information to 
be prepared for any exigency. I shall not have 
recourse to harsh treatment ; and though that 
corporal has taken it upon himself so to advise me, 
I shall not prohibit the public funeral of the smith 
to-day.” 

But this mournful occasion brought no cause of 
disturbance. Nearly all the village attended, and 


300 


EOR THE RIGHT. 


Father Leo would fain have poured out his heart 
had the widow not begged him to forego the usual 
discourse. “ My husband shall indeed have a 
funeral sermon by and by,” she said, “ not in words, 
but in gun-shots.” 

On the evening of this day, also, two men went 
the round of the village, Alexa Sembrow and Wilko 
Sembratowicz. “ It has been announced,” they 
said, “ that to-morrow we have to expect a man of 
the law to take our deposition with regard to Taras’s 
speech. Now Taras himself has desired us to make 
it known, but we consider the transactions of the 
general assembly are no lawyer’s business, and we 
propose to refuse information. Do you agree ? ” 
which they all did, none having the slightest com- 
punction on this point. 

Whilst the inhabitants of Zulawce were thus 
preparing to circumvent the law after their own 
fashion, Mr. Ladislas Kapronski, the district com- 
missioner, with his office-clerk behind him, was 
being driven towards the contumacious parish. He 
was seated in an open car, an armed constable on 
either side of him, but nowise at his ease ; indeed, 
so harassed was his appearance, that the simple 
country folk by the roadside, unable to guess at 
his position by his looks, kept wondering what so 
respectable an individual could have done to be 
taken to prison for ! A coward every inch of him, 
he certainly did not show to advantage with an 
escort of constables about him. 

Nor did the rising sun of another day enhance his 
spirits ; for was he not approaching that desperate 
village? his craven imagination conjuring up the 
most lively scenes of the regiment being murdered 
to a man by that awful Taras. He quite gasped 
with relief on beholding some of the soldiers patrol- 
ling by the Pruth, and their leader, a sergeant, 


THE BANNER UNFURLED. 30l 

assured him, somewhat surprised, that the regiment, 
so far, was alive and the people tolerably quiet. 

This account seemed cheering, and he fell to 
determining his mode of action. He would try, in 
the first place, to bully Anusia ; for if the mandatar’s 
advice in this respect was illegal, it was nevertheless 
useful, and this was not a case to stickle for techni- 
cal correctness, when positively one’s life was in 
danger, the amiable man said to himself. He 
instructed his driver, therefore, to put him down 
near Taras’s farm ; and, to the astonishment of 
the constables, he went on his errand alone. The 
beating of his heart was known to himself only. 
“No doubt she is a termagant of a woman,” he 
murmured, But face her he must. 

He was fortunate in finding her alone in the 
common sitting-room. She gave a searching look 
at the man, who entered her presence with an uncer 
tain step. 

“I am the district commissioner,” Kapronski 
stammered. 

“I am aware of the fact,” said Anusia. “What 
may be your pleasure ? ” 

Her manner was not exactly calculated to rouse 
any latent courage ; nevertheless he gathered him- 
self up with an effort, saying hastily : “ I am the 
bearer of a message from the Board of magistrates. 
Your husband is a miscreant. Unfortunately we 
cannot just lay our hands on him; but you and 
your children and this farm are within our reach. If 
Taras dares hurt a hair of my head — of my head, do 
you hear ? — or anybody else’s, your property will be 
confiscated, and you shall answer for him to the law. 
We know you have communication with him ; so just 
send him word ! ” 

The woman had listened quietly — almost with 
indifference. “Yes, yes,” she muttered, when he 


302 


FOB THE BIGHT. 


had finished, “I understand you! All right,” she 
added aloud, “ your message shall be delivered.” 

“ Soon?” 

“ At once.” 

With this comfortable assurance Kapronski made 
all possible speed to regain his car. “ So far, so 
good,” he said, rejoicing, ‘‘a reasonable woman 
after all ! I wonder if I had better have the place 
watched to find out how Taras is being com- 
municated with ; it might be an easy mode of dis- 
covering his whereabouts, and a feather in my cap 
with the Board. But perhaps I had better not 
disturb the woman in sending so sensible a mes- 
sage!” And therewith he ordered his driver to 
take him to the judge’s next. 

But Jewgeni, unequal to the mental conflict of 
deciding whether his valiant brother or the will of 
the parish should prevail, had settled the question 
by beating his retreat to the public house at Zablo- 
tow. Constantine, however, was at home, and 
readily dictated to the commissioner’s clerk a 
towering heap of invectives against all authority, 
whether in heaven or on earth, declaring such to be 
a faithful report of Taras’s speech. But he was the 
only witness forthcoming ; what further deposition 
Kapronski could procure was more amusing than 
valuable. Bed Schymko, for instance, invited him 
politely to be seated, and then harangued him for an 
hour concerning Taras’s personal appearance ; but 
when desired to give his version of the speech in 
question, he protested with voluble regrets that his 
memory had failed him from the day he was born, 
and never a word could he remember. Most of the 

P easants, however, spurned the idea of thus hum- 
ugging the commissioner, flatly declaring they 
were no tell-tales. 

The day passed, and although Kapronski had 


THE BANNER UNFURLED, 803 

obtained nothing beyond the corporal’s deposition, 
he decided, with the approach of evening, that he 
had better return now to those who had sent him. 
There was no time to be lost, if he meant to pass 
the most dangerous part of the way before nightfall. 

The road from Zulawce to Zablotow runs at first 
along the Pruth, in a northerly direction, making a 
sudden bend eastward and traversing the plain. 
The commissioner’s car had reached this bend, and 
daylight was fast vanishing, when one of the con- 
stables suddenly rose from his seat, giving a 
searching look across the river. 

“What is it?” cried Kapronski, clutching the 
man’s arm ; he was short-sighted, and could not see 
for himself. 

“ Some dozen horsemen,” replied the constable, 
“ Huzuls by the look of them — just bfirsting from 
yonder cover and making for the ford.” 

The commissioner could now distinguish the dark 
figures approaching. “ Let us return,” he gasped. 

“Impossible,” declared the constables. “They 
will have crossed the river before we could out-flank 
them.” Then to the driver : “ Make what speed 
you can to Zablotow.” 

And the car shot on quick as lightning, passing 
the fields of Debeslawce. But the sound of hoofs 
was carried after them; the horsemen had crossed 
the ford and were coming on in a quick gallop. The 
distance between them was fast lessening, and voices 
could be distinguished. The commissioner had 
closed his eyes, well-nigh swooning. 

“ Stop ! ” cried the men in pursuit. “ Stop, or 
we shall fire ! ” 

“ Drive on ! ” urged the constables. But the car 
stopped, the coachman dropping the reins. “ I 
have not undertaken to be killed like a dog,” he mut- 
tered. “ Besides, there is no escaping this Taras ! ” 


304 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


Another moment and the horsemen were on the 
spot, surrounding the commissioner’s party with 
pointed pistols. A dark-complexioned fellow, lithe 
and graceful, with the look of an eagle, appeared to 
be the leader. “Hand over your muskets,” he 
ordered the constables, and they obeyed. 

“You may take yourselves off, then ; it is not 
you we want, only this gentleman of the quill. Be 
so good as to descend, Mr. Commissioner.” 

“ For pity’s sake,” whined Kapronski. 

“We are not going to kill you,” said the eagle- 
eyed leader, with a look of disdain. “ Our orders 
are to take you to our captain, Taras, who wishes 
to speak to you. He would have come himself had 
it been worth his while. Have the goodness, then, 
to descend.” 

Seeing a pistol pointed at him, the commissioner 
could not but rise, yet his feet would not carry him, 
and he had to be lifted to the ground. 

“ Are you able to ride ? ” inquired the leader of the 
troop, beckoning at the same time to one of his 
men, who was holding a small, shaggy horse by the 
bridle. “ Taras is sure to regret that he cannot 
place a carriage at your disposal, but this animal 
won’t throw you.” 

The commissioner groaned. 

“Lift him into the saddle,” commanded the 
leader, “ and strap him fast. Two of you take 
him between you.” 

It was done. The eagle-eyed chief nodded approv- 
ingly, and, turning to the constables and the clerk, 
he wished them good evening and a happy journey. 

They drove off gladly enough, and, looking back 
presently, could see the mounted Huzuls disappear- 
ing in the shadows, the wretched commissioner in 
their midst. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 

rpHE steep, narrow path which from Zulawce 
winds westward into the uplands, is not with- 
out danger to the pedestrian, but safe enough to the 
small, sure-footed mountain pony of the Huzuls. 
Here and there it takes you into one of those cool, 
dusky clefts which separate the terraced heights, 
leading for the most part straight across the moun- 
tains, so that each sudden rise is succeeded by an 
equally precipitous descent, and the traveller would 
hardly imagine he were nearing the very top of the 
chain, if every successive ridge he gained did not 
show him a wider and more glorious expanse of 
the plain left behind. For the view is open from 
every summit where the growing copse wood is 
swept away or kept low by the terrific eastern gales 
which hurst upon these elevated regions from the 
broad level between the Dniester and the Don ; tall 
bracken and giant trees closing in the path else- 
where, one particular spot excepted, where it winds 
between bare rocks of a brownish yellow and 
strangely shaped. 

This is the Red Hollow, some half-day’s journey 
from Zulawce. Traversing it, you would most likely 
follow the main path, westward still, to the Black 
Water and into the Marmaros beyond ; indeed, 
few travellers, on reaching the centre of this rocky 


306 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


glen, where beneath a stunted fir a small red cross is to 
be seen, would strike off at right angles on what could 
scarcely be called a path. It is the poorest of tracks, 
now ascending boldly, now descending abruptly amid 
boulders and crumbling stones ; and the traveller 
who loves his life, having ventured so far, would do 
well to surrender himself to the safer instincts of his 
pony. It is a desperate attempt at best ; but who- 
ever has dared it will remember it with rapture. 
For having traversed a wilderness of nature’s debris , 
you pass a rocky entrance overlooking a valley, the 
very home of beauty bright and still, wondrously 
fair, and its like hardly to be found even amid the 
glories of the Carpathians. 

Lovely beech woods enclose a small lake of 
clearest blue ; the sheltered slopes around are 
covered with wild flowers, in a profusion which is 
rare even in the lower valleys ; and between bright 
leaves, in due season, the luscious, deep-coloured 
strawberries abound. Eastward the lake has an 
outlet, a tumbling brook making its way through a 
narrow cleft towards the Pruth, while all around from 
the slopes silvery rills come down, just ruffling the 
blue mirror which receives them . Above and beyond , 
this gem of mountain scenery is overhung with 
rugged peaks and solemn fir woods, looking down in 
proud protection upon this most favoured spot. The 
people round about have learned to call it again by 
its ancient name, “The Crystal Springs;” but in the 
days we write of it came to be known as “ The 
Waters of Taras.” 

Here was his camp — hither he brought his men on 
that Palm Sunday of 1839. 

The place was well chosen, secluded enough for 
safety, except in case of treason ; a natural fastness, 
too, which could be held against almost any attack, 
and yet not far from the lowlands, for in following 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


307 


that outlet of the lake the sedgy banks of the 
Pruth might be reached in three hours. Moreover, 
the Red Hollow and its neighbourhood is the best- 
stocked hunting ground in these game-haunts ; a 
fact not to be overlooked by a captain of outlaws, 
determined to make honest provision for his men. 

For the matter of that, however, it seemed at 
first as though Taras, apart from this, need 
never be at a loss how to feed his men. The news 
of his arrival by the Crystal Springs had scarcely 
had time to spread before the dwellers in the glens 
round about arrived with a friendly greeting of 
bread, sheep’s flesh, butter, and milk for the new 
neighbour. Taras knew what such hospitality 
cost these people, and he had money enough 
and to spare ; but he could not refuse their 
gifts, well aware that they would look upon it as an 
insult to be resented. Nor was he pleased that 
their young men should offer to join him, bold and 
fearless as they were, huntsmen and shepherds of 
the mountain wilds, accustomed to any hardship, 
and seasoned to any storm. Their sympathy with the 
avenger was more the love of fighting than anything 
else; but they were honest, and Taras knew they 
would not forsake him in any plight, still less play 
him false in trouble. Nevertheless, to most of them 
he turned a deaf ear. He knew that these half- 
savage hordes were strangers to common obedi- 
ence ; he could never have trained them to the 
discipline he intended to uphold, and though 
he might perchance have taught them to respect 
property, he knew there was no trusting them with 
defenceless women anywhere. 

Three of them, however, he admitted, because he 
believed himself certain of their inmost souls. These 
were a couple of huntsmen who had acted as his 
guides on his former visits, and the “ Royal Eagle,” 


308 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Julko Bosenko, youngest son of Hilarion the Just, 
who dwelt by the Black Water. His handsome 
presence, rare strength and activity, together with a 
courage so dauntless and daring that it was con- 
spicuous even among that reckless tribe, had gained 
him the proud name he bore. And of the Huzuls 
who offered themselves to Taras he was the only 
one actuated not solely by a spirit of defiant ad- 
venturousness, but by a deep longing to take ven- 
geance for violence he had suffered. When a mere 
youth, he had, by order of a military captain, been 
dragged from a fair to the barracks at Wiznitz, and 
declared fit for service, against all show of right. 
His fine figure had thus brought him to grief. In 
vain he remonstrated, assuring his captors he was 
not even near the legal age for conscription ; 
their answer was : “We have no wings, young 
eagle, to fetch you from your eyry when you may 
have reached the age. You had better submit ; be 
reasonable, and you will enjoy the life.” But the 
young man refused to be “reasonable; ” no punish- 
ment, no bullying, could force him to take the mili- 
tary oath. For eight months he held out, when the 
visit of a higher officer brought sharp censure to the 
captain and liberation to the youth. He returned 
to the mountains thirsting for revenge ; but Julko 
loved his father, Hilarion the Just, too dearly to 
grieve him by joining those who were looked upon 
as the refuse of the plains ; he did not become a hajda- 
mak, the repressed fury eating the deeper into his 
passionate heart. Now, at last, the longed-for 
hour of retribution seemed to have come : to join the 
avenger was no shame, but a glory. 

At first then Taras’s band consisted of seven in 
all— the three Huzuls, his own two men, and the 
youths, Lazarko and Wassilj, the latter of whom 
was almost always absent reconnoitring. Old Jemi- 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


309 


lian would shake his faithful head sadly, because the 
expected reinforcements were slow in appearing : 
and when Wassilj, after his first day’s scouting, 
made a glowing description of the enthusiasm he 
had met with, the old man laughed grimly, saying : 
“ I doubt not but they will find us worthy of song, 
even when we have come to the gallows.*’ Taras was 
unmoved ; his heart having gone through the heav- 
ing waters, seemed to have gained the shore of a 
mysterious calm. He was silent, solemn, and though 
a rare smile might come to his lips, it never reached 
his eyes ; hut that expression of brooding thought, 
of agonised conflict, had left him. When the news 
was brought that Anusia had gone out of her mind 
he shook his head. “ I do not believe it,” he said to 
Jemilian; “I know what one can bear and not 
go mad. I know it from my own experience, but 
now the worst is over. I have lost much, but I 
have recovered myself.” And he would cheer his 
followers : “ Never fear, we shall lack neither work, 
nor fit hands to do it.” Whereupon he ordered the 
construction of a storehouse, a shelter for horses, 
and barracks to lodge thirty men. 

Nor was his confidence mistaken ; not a week 
passed before helpers poured in, one of the very 
first being a man whom neither Taras nor any one 
else in that country would have expected to volunteer 
for such service. 

It was early in the morning, the rocky heights 
and the firs above them stood forth against a back- 
ground of brilliant light ; but the lake below and 
the meadows on the gentle slopes had just caught 
the first rosy glimmer of day. Taras had relieved 
the “ Royal Eagle,” who had done sentry duty 
through the night, and was sitting with his gun 
between his knees on the solitary rock against 
which the barracks were to be erected. He sat 


310 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


motionless, his eye commanding the fair valley from 
the rocky entrance on the one side to the shrubby 
cleft on the other, through which the lake found 
its outlet. The dewy stillness of early morning 
hung on hush and brae. But suddenly he bent 
forward, listening. There were steps approaching 
from the Bed Hollow, distant yet, but falling 
heavily on the rocky soil, as of a traveller unused to 
such rough descent. The dark outline of a human 
figure grew visible presently amid the yellowish 
rocks, and Taras scanned the new comer. 

“ A Jew ! ” he exclaimed, with great surprise ; “ and 
he carries a firelock ! what on earth can he want ? ” 

Well might Taras wonder, for a Jew hearing arms 
had never crossed his vision. Men of that persua- 
sion in the East have a horror of weapons of any 
kind, and any humble Israelite who may be met with 
occasionally in the mountain- wilds is but a pedlar, 
trudging with his bundle of stuffs from homestead to 
homestead with no ground of safety but the goodness 
of the God of Abraham or the knowledge of his own 
abject poverty. But the son of Jacob now coming 
hither carried his head high, and his back was bowed 
by no other burden than the musket, the barrel of 
which caught sparkles from the rising sun. He was 
young, tall, and broad-shouldered ; and if his ample 
caftan gave sorry proof of the difficult path he had 
come by, there was no weariness in his movements. 
With undaunted step he approached the hetman. 

“ I greet you, Taras.” he said. “ I recognised 
you at first sight, although I daresay you have 
forgotten me ; you used to be kind to me when I 
was a boy.” 

Taras gave a searching glance at the face before 
him, sharp-featured, gloomy, and furrowed as with 
terrible experience. “ Nashko ! ” he cried, “ is it you? 
Little Nashko, the son of the innkeeper at Bidowa?” 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


311 


He held out both his hands, and the Jew caught 
them, his face trembling with delight. “ I could 
hardly be sure of such a welcome,” he said. “ It 
is I indeed — your old friend Nashko, son of 
Berish ! ” 

‘‘But how is it?” cried Taras, making him sit 
beside him. “ When I left my own village, twelve 
years ago, I cut you a reed-pipe to console you, and 
now ” 

“ Now,” continued the Jew, with a dark smile, 
“ it is a wonder I am not grey- haired, to judge from 
this face of mine. I am but four-and-twenty, 
Taras, but an old man through sorrow and despair.” 

“Things have gone ill with you? You have 
suffered wrong, and come to me to redress it? ” 

Nashko shook his head, yet added quickly, with 
a scrutinising look in Taras’s face. “ And if it were 
so, would you help me, though I am a Jew? ” 

“Can you d'uibt it?” exclaimed Taras, warmly. 
“ Does the wrong-doer inquire into his victim’s 
faith ? How, then, should I ? As they inflict 
wrong where they list, it is for me to right it 
wherever I find it. And I would help you, even if 
I hated the Jews. But I do not hate you, because, 
from a child upward, I have striven to be just. 
And whenever I heard people speak ill of them, I 
thought of you, Nashko, and of your father. Old 
Berish lived among us honestly and like one of our- 
selves. He drew a modest livelihood from his 
tavern, and tilled his fields with diligence. The 
people of Ridowa respected him, therefore, as they 
would any other good man among them. And were 
not you as merry-hearted and plucky a boy as auy 
in the village ? The only difference was that you 
wore no cross, but the Jewish fringe.* And 

* Orthodox Jews wear on their chest a short garment with 
fringes according to the rabinical tradition ; vide Numbers xv. 38 . 


312 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


I always thought, it is not the difference of 
race ; hut the Jews behave to us just as we behave 
to them. Say on, then ; what can I do for 
you ? ” 

“Thank you, heartily,” said the Jew, again 
seizing his hand. “ But I have not come to beg 
for your help. It is too late for that, both as 
regards myself and my sister. And if there were a 
chance of revenge I would do the deed alone ! I 
have come with another prayer, and the words you 
have just spoken give me courage to ask it. Let 
me join your band, Taras ! ” 

“You! ” cried the outlaw, starting from his seat 
in sheer amazement. “A Jew fighting for the right 
in the mountains. This has never been heard of since 
the beginning of days. To be sure, you have grown 
up like one of ourselves, as I have just been saying ; 
still it is unheard-of. Poor fellow, what grievous 
wrong you must have suffered ! ” 

“ Grievous, indeed ; but after all it is only what has 
happened to others before and will happen again,” 
replied the Jew, his voice quivering with the deep 
trouble of his soul. “ But while some can rise from 
their shame and forget it, others are undone for 
ever. . . . You will scarcely remember my 

sister Jutta?” 

“ O ! yes,” returned Taras, eagerly, “ a dear little 
golden-haired thing — the prettiest child of the 
village.” 

“Well, she grew but the fairer as she grew in 
years. My father and I guarded her as the apple 
of our eye ; my mother having died early, he and I 
brought her up, and she was the joy and pride of 
our life. Several respectable men had asked her in 
marriage, although we were poor, but my father 
would not give her to any of them ; none seemed 
good enough for our sweet girl. He regretted it 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


313 


sorely in his dying hour, and could only take 
comfort in the sacred promise I made him, hence- 
forth to watch over her with double care and let my 
own happiness in life be subordinate to hers. I kept 
my promise. Our farm brought in little, and the 
tavern still less, because the lord of the manor 
increased the rent from year to year ; nevertheless, I 
remained at Ridowa, because my going forth to look 
for a living elsewhere would have obliged Jutta to 
seek service with strangers. For her sake also I re- 
mained unmarried, that she might remain mistress 
of the house and my only care. For both these 
reasons the Jews of Barnow were dissatisfied with 
me, for, in the judgment of my people, it is well- 
nigh a wrong to remain unwedded, and nearly as 
bad to live apart from one’s fellows in the faith 
without forcible reason. But I had other trouble 
to think of than the displeasure of the Jews of Bar- 
now ! A young nephew of our Count, a certain 
Baron Kaminski, was visiting at the manor. He 
saw my sister, and fell in love with her — after the 
fashion, Taras, in which a young Polish noble will 
play at love with a poor Jewish maiden ! He often 
came riding by, annoying her with his addresses 
whenever he knew I was out of the way. She kept it 
from me as long as she could, knowing my 
passionate temper, but the poor child at last could 
not help telling me. She had judged me aright — I 
was furious ; and had I met the youngster in that 
hour, with these hands of mine I would have 
strangled him. But, growing calmer, I judged it 
best to appeal to our Count, begging him to 
interfere. He promised to speak to his nephew, 
and we seemed to be left at peace, the young baron 
never coming near the place, and even condescend- 
ing to make some sort of apology on meeting me 
accidentally elsewhere.” 

14 


314 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ I know their tricks,” said Taras, darkly ; “ it 
was his cunning to throw you off your guard.” 

“ Yes,” cried Nashko, drawing himself up and 
pacing to and fro wildly ; “it was ! I had business 
at the distillery one day, which kept me away over 
night. On returning, I found that the baron had 
been with his lackeys and creatures. I barely 
listened to the poor girl’s piteous story, but 
snatched up my gun and forced my way into the 
manor-house. The wretch had left the place, think- 
ing himself safer in Poland. My unhappy sister was 
seized with a burning fever, and, lest she should die 
without help, there being no doctor near us, I took 
her to Barnow. The people there had nursed 
their anger against us, and perhaps not without 
some reason, as they viewed matters ; but pity was 
strong, and they stood by us in that time of sorrow. 
My sister was kindly taken care of, and when she 
had recovered I made over to her all I possessed, 
and went my way to seek the baron. I knew what 
awaited me if 1 did the deed my heart demanded, 
but go I must. Again I missed him ; he had left 
for Paris. Thither I could not follow. I returned 
to Barnow, but my sister was gone ...” He 
covered his face, his bosom heaving. 

“ Gone after him?” cried Taras, wondering. 

“What do you mean!” retorted poor Nashko, 
with a proud look of disdain. “Was she not an 
honest Jewish maiden ? No; but the Sereth is a 
deep river and holds fast its prey. I never learned 
why she did it ; whether for maidenly shame only, 
or because of any evil scorn, repressed while she was 
ill, but flung at her when she was about again — I 
cannot tell. But what is now left for me I know ; 
and therefore your call to every wronged one has 
found an echo in my heart. I shook off the lethargy 
of grief and despair, and I have come to ask you, 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


315 


judge and avenger as you claim to be, will you let 
me join your band?” 

Taras went up to him, laying his hand upon his 
shoulder. “ Nashko,” he said, solemnly, “ if I still 
hesitate, it is not because of your being a Jew. A 
man who has gone through what I have gone 
through would not deserve a ray of sunlight on his 
path if he could make any difference between his 
brethren. And who is my brother but he who has 
suffered wrong ? My doubts, therefore, do not con- 
cern your faith, but yourself. Let me ask you, have 
you really lost all hope that your heart can ever grow 
still again and capable of being happy ?” 

“ Certainly not,” replied the Jew, firmly, and the 
fire of his eye spoke of terrible possibilities ; “ such 
hope, on the contrary, is ever present with me. My 
heart will grow calm again, and I shall be happy on 
the day when I shall cleave the head of him who 
ruined my sister. . . . Spare yourself any fur- 

ther trouble, Taras ; the men of my race are wont 
to consider before they act. And I have considered. 
Will you accept me as one of yours? ” 

“Yes,” said Taras, briefly, and called his men, 
who were not a little taken aback on beholding their 
new comrade, a scornful remark hovering on the 
lips of the “ Boyal Eagle,” and shrinking back only 
at the captain’s look of command. 

Julko Kosenko, the first volunteer of the moun- 
tain wilds, and the Jew, the first one from the low- 
lands — or as, to this day, they are known in song, the 
“ Eoyal Eagle ” and “ Black Nashko ” — are the only 
two of Taras’s band who strike the imagination 
either by their originality or by the motives inspiring 
their action. All the others, whom a lawless or 
revengeful disposition brought to his standard, may 
have been the victims of tyranny, indeed, but they 
were men of a lower type, and their history is but the 


316 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


outcome of the troublous confusion of oppressors 
and oppressed struggling for mastery. 

Thus there was with him a peasant from the 
Bukowina, one Thodika Synkow, who to his fortieth 
year had lived quietly on his bit of land, till the 
harshness of a tax-gatherer selling the very pillow 
from under the head of his sick wife drove him to a 
deed of murder. There was an under-steward from 
near the frontier, Stas Barilko, who after years of 
faithful service had been cruelly flogged for having 
shot a hare without his master’s leave. There was 
a certain Sophron Hlinkowski, the leader of a 
church choir, who in a dispute between the priest 
and the parish concerning tithes had sided with 
the people, and, when the angry pastor, with the ap- 
proval of his superiors, suspended the church services, 
had yielded to the entreaty of the peasants, reading 
prayers when there was a funeral. That was his 
crime ; the priest denounced him, and the un- 
fortunate precentor was sent to prison, finding him- 
self a beggar when his two years had expired. His 
only child had died, and his wife had gone off with 
another man. So he joined Taras to “ lift his voice 
now after another fashion, and make the ears tingle 
of those who used him so cruelly ; ” and Taras 
admitted him, as, indeed, he admitted any one whom 
honest resentment brought to his standard, and who, 
having nothing to lose, was possessed of the three 
requisites he looked for — obedience, courage, and 
frugality. For Taras held strictly by the words he 
had spoken beneath the linden : “ Let none come to 
me who seeks for pleasure in life, and no happy man 
shall join me.” Many offered themselves, setting 
aside this primary condition, but the hetman sub- 
jected every one to the most rigid examination ; 
and any one hoping to find refuge with him from 
just punishment was rejected as mercilessly as were 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


317 

the mere ruffians looking for booty. Yet, in spite of 
such strict investigation, Taras’s band on Easter 
morning consisted of thirty well-armed and resolute 
men. 

But he had to give audience to a host of people 
besides, peaceful men coming to tell him of their 
troubles, or delegates pleading for a wronged 
community. Some of their complaints were 
worthless enough, hut the greater number were well 
founded, strengthening him in his conviction that 
this “ unhappy land in which justice is not to be 
found ” was sorely in need of an “ avenger.” The 
wisdom he had gained at the cost of his life’s hap- 
piness made him sufficiently cautious not to believe 
blindly any reports that might reach him, and the 
only promise any of his suppliants got out of him 
was to the effect that he would make inquiry, and 
“ woe to you if you have lied to me, but woe to 
. your oppressors if you speak the truth ! ” And if 
they grew urgent, protesting their honesty, and 
entreating for speedy redress, he would answer : 
“ You may look for me soon, but the hour shall not 
be fixed ; for how can I he sure there are no tell- 
tales among you, enabling the Whitecoats to meet 
me ? And, moreover, I have undertaken, first of all, 
to settle accounts with the mandatar of Zulawce. 
Not that I long for his punishment before that of 
any other evil-doer in the land, but a man must be 
true to his word.” 

But, to judge from the intelligence brought to him 
by Wassilj, who on the Saturday had returned 
from a reconnoitring expedition to Colomea, it 
promised to be a desperate venture to get hold of the 
mandatar, and Taras shrank from the risk of leading 
his faithful men to the well-garrisoned district 
town merely to carry out to the letter an assurance 
given. If, however, his spirits failed him for a 


318 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


moment, his energy and confidence soon rose 
uppermost. Wassilj was ordered back to Colomea 
to procure further information, whilst Sefko and 
the Koyal Eagle were despatched to inquire into 
the complaints made by two parishes on the plain, 
and Jemilian was sent off to announce to Anusia, 
and through her to the village, the ^impending arrival 
of the Whitecoats. 

“ Master,” said the faithful old servant, hesi- 
tatingly, “ have you forgotten that the mistress ” 

“ Is gone out of her mind ? ” - interrupted Taras. 
“ She never did, and by this time is as collected as 
you or I, Jemilian. She was stunned for a moment, 
but she knows what is laid upon her, and will never 
flinch.” 

“Have you had further news?” inquired the 
man, wondering. 

“ No, but I know my wife. My own heart tells 
me.” 

And Taras continued making his preparations. 
“ I have promised to be ready by Easter Day ; that 
much, at least, I will keep.” He assigned to each 
man his place in the barracks, which, a light wooden 
structure, had been run up already ; he gave orders 
concerning the daily rations and appointed the re- 
gulation of sentries. He also divided his band into 
two distinct companies, setting a sub-captain over 
each. The Eoyal Eagle should command the one, 
Black Nashko the other. 

In naming the latter, Taras, with an imperious 
look, scanned the faces of his followers as they were 
drawn up before him. A flush of anger was plainly 
evident, and one of them, Stas Barilko, was about 
to speak. But that look of the hetman’s silenced 
him, Taras repeating, “ Our brother Nashko shall 
command these.” Not a sound of dissent — and the 
sign for dispersing was given. 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


319 


The Jew then came forward. “ Taras,” he ex- 
claimed, “ why did you not take me into your 
counsel? I fear this will be neither to your ad- 
vantage, nor to mine. As for me it matters little, 
but you and your cause must not suffer. You 
should not have braved needlessly the prejudice in 
which they have grown up, and which is next to 
religion with them. ,, 

“Needlessly?” exclaimed Taras. “I have ap- 
pointed you, because after due consideration I 
take you to be the most earnest and best qualified 
of my followers. These others — well they will soon 
see for themselves that you are worthy of my confi- 
dence ; till then they will just obey.” 

“ Yes, resentfully and under protest,” urged the 
Jew, “ and you should avoid that, unless the most 
sacred principle were at stake. Remember that 
your influence rests upon their free will alone.” 

“ No ! ” cried Taras. “ They could come to me or 
stay away of their own free will. But having come, 
they are what I am, instruments towards the gain- 
ing of a common and most holy end.” 

. . . The following morning — it was Easter 

Sunday — rose with all the wondrous fragrance of 
spring. Taras had caused a plain wooden cross to be 
erected, and the wild outlaws, bareheaded, gathered 
beneath the sacred sign. Nashko only held aloof. 

And, taking his place beside the cross, Taras 
spoke to his men. “ My brothers,” he said, “ we 
have neither priest nor altar to help us to keep this 
day. But God is to be found wherever the heart of 
man will turn to Him, and He will listen to the 
humble prayer we would offer up — a homeless flock, 
having left all that men count dear for the sake of 
His own holy justice.” 

He crossed himself and repeated the Lord’s Prayer 
slowly and solemnly, the men saying it after him ; 


820 


FOR THE RIGHT. 

and after that Sophron, of the church choir, stood 
up beside him, once more to do his duty in leading 
the ancient Easter Hymn ; and all their voices joined 
in the fine old chorale : — 

“ Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day !” 

Thus the homeless ones kept Easter in the 
mountains. 

They were yet singing when Jemilian returned ; 
and, service over, he informed his master he had 
found Anusia exactly as Taras had predicted. “ She 
has even made ready for the soldiers,” the man said. 
“ The rest of the people seem utterly confident, 
firmly believing that this night you will storm the 
manor-house ; and they are all preparing to witness 
it, for Anusia refused to give them your message.” 

“ What ! ” cried Taras, staggering. 

“ Refused point-blank,” repeated Jemilian. “This 
is her answer — I took care to remember it : ‘ Tell 
him,’ she said, ‘ I shall be grateful for any news of 
my lord and master, but I entreat him to send 
me word about himself only, not concerning his 
plans or the movements of those against him ; for I 
will not speak an untruth when the men of the law 
ask me, and I will keep a clean heart. That is my 
prayer, let him grant it or not, as he pleases ; but 
one thing I will never do, however urgently he may 
demand it— I refuse to be the go-between, carrying 
his messages to the village. I shall not do so in 
the present instance, although his news is for the 
good of the people entirely, and I will not do it in 
any case whatever. I will not share his guilt, nor 
his punishment in the end — tell him so, he will 
understand. He has made our children fatherless, 
he shall not make them motherless as well.’ This 
is her message ! ” 

Taras grew white as death ; but before he could 
answer another messenger arrived, a lad whom the 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


321 


Royal Eagle had despatched from Zablotow, his 
news being that the hussars were due at Zulawce 
by nightfall, to anticipate Taras’s expected attempt 
on the manor. 

The hetman looked anxious, Jemilian lending 
words to his fear. “ There will be trouble,” he said 
“ if the soldiers come upon the excited villagers in 
the night.” 

“ There will ! ” cried Taras, “ they must be warned 
at any risk. You must go back directly, as fast as 
your horse will carry you. And if my wife still refuses, 
you must get Father Leo to tell them.” 

Jemilian promised his best, but Taras continued 
anxious, growing even more so with the setting sun , 
“ All the misery of my life, so far, has struck me 
unawares,” he said to his friend Nashko, “ and I 
doubt whether a presaging voice is given to the heart 
of man ; yet there is something within me making 
me sore afraid for my wife and children this night.” 

On waking in the morning from restless slumbers, 
he found Jemilian by his side. The old man looked 
wan, and his brow was clouded. 

“ They have been killed ? ” cried Taras, starting up. 

“ Not the mistress or the children,” said Jemi- 
lian ; “but blood has flowed.” He was already on his 
way back when the tumult arose, and, returning 
cautiously, he learned what had happened, and that 
the smith had received his death- wound. 

“Do not take it to heart so much, dear master,” 
said the man, interrupting his report, for Taras was 
groaning pitifully. “ The blood which has been 
shed lies neither at your door nor at your wife’s. 
She did manage to have the people warned through 
Father Leo.” 

“ At my door ! ” cried Taras, wildly. But, checking 
himself, he requested to be left alone. It was some 
time before he showed himself to his men, and then, 
14 * 


322 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


with a silent nod only to their greeting, he departed 
into the lonely wood. 

The rough men were at a loss to understand him. 
“ Why, this is excellent news,” they said. “ Such 
butchery would rouse the most law-abiding people in 
the land ! ” The Jew alone guessed what moved 
the captain’s heart, and took courage to go after 
him. He found him lying beneath a fir-tree, with a 
gloomy face and evidently suffering. 

“ Taras ! ” he said, taking his hand, “ I under- 
stand your grief ; but the comfort remains that you 
did your best to avert this trouble.” 

But the captain shook his head. “ A man must 
reap what he sows,” he said. 

“ Do you repent of the step you have taken ? ” 

“ No ! ” he cried, vehemently. “ Oh ! how little 
you understand me ! If I had not done so already, 
I would this day declare war against those that are in 
power. I have but done what I must do. But what 
that means — all the fearful scope of my undertak- 
ing — has only now grown plain to me. . . . And 
more,” he added, hoarsely . . . “ there is another 
thing ! I used to think at times that possibly I might 
come to an evil end through this work of mine. 
Now I know it ; I see now that my end can not, must 
not, be a good one. . . .” 

“What has come to you, Taras?” cried the 
Jew, alarmed. 

“ I cannot explain it,” said the captain, with a 
wistful look ; “ it is a voice within me, not of the 
mind, but of the heart. I know it now ! ” 

The following morning the deputies of the village, 
Wassilj, the butcher, and Hritzko Pomenko, ap- 
peared before Taras, delivering their message. 

“ We are convinced that you will stand by us,” 
they said, “ and only wish to know what time you 
fix for the revenge.” 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


323 


He had listened quietly, but then made answer 
with a terrible sternness: “Hearken!” he said, 

“ if you had asked me to help you in attacking the 
hussars, I would have refused, both for your sakes, 
since it would harm you in the end, and for the 
sake of justice itself ; for these soldiers have only 
obeyed those they are bound to obey. I would have 
reasoned with you, advising you to keep quiet, and 
if nevertheless you had suffered wrong I would have 
made those responsible who ordered it. But now 
you actually ask me to lift the arm of murder 
against the Whitecoats, who have done you no 
injury. I have but one answer, therefore — 

4 Get ye gone from the camp of the avenger ! * 
How could I have anything to do with men 
capable of the thought even of assassination? ” 

“ Taras ! ” exclaimed Wassilj, staggering as • 
though he had received a blow ; but young Hritzko 
stood rooted to the ground, his eyes wide open with 
amazement. Taras’s men, on the contrary, looked 
sullenly before them in plain disapproval. 

“ Yes,” continued Taras ; “ let me repeat it. 
What you are thinking of is not an act of sacred 
vengeance, but of revengeful murder. If I were 
not sure you would never dare an attack without 
me, God knows I would send word of your intention 
to the officer on the spot.” 

“ Taras,” now cried Hritzko, in his turn. “ How 
is it ? Have we not heard your solemn declaration 
of war against the Emperor, and now you will not 
rid us of his soldiers, the instruments of tyranny ? ” 

“ No,” replied Taras, firmly, “ I will not, because 
I am not an assassin, but a champion of justice.” 

“A champion afraid of shedding blood?” inter- 
posed the butcher, scornfully. 

“ A champion who will not shed innocent blood, 
unless it be the only way of making justice vie- 


324 


FOR THE RIGHT. 

torious,” returned Taras, solemnly. “ If the mandatar 
were at Zablotow under the protection of these 
soldiers, and I had a force sufficient to risk an 
attack, I would do so this very night. For he has 
sinned against the law of God , and must he brought 
to judgment ; and since Right is the most sacred 
thing upon earth, it is better to shed blood than let 
this holy thing be dragged low. But except for such 
reason, I will never consent to endanger an innocent 
life, lest the deed rise against me and mine in the 
day of judgment.” 

“ But, Taras,” pleaded Hritzko, “ this is all very 
well as regards ourselves or the soldiers, but what of 
yourself? Do you think they would have the 
slightest compunction in slaying you, wherever they 
find you? ” 

“We will take care of ourselves,” said Taras, 
quietly. 

“ I trust you may,” rejoined the butcher. “ Come, 
Hritzko, let us be gone.” 

But the young man went up closer to Taras. 
“ What answer would you have us take back to our 
people?” said he, clasping Taras’s hand. “They 
are in the worst of moods, bitterly resenting the 
military interference, but they have full confidence 
in your coming. All their fury will be turned 
against you if we tell them how you judge of their 
purpose. Have you no other message, Taras, which 
we might take back to them? ” 

“ No,” replied the captain, sternly. “ Thank you 
for your good intentions ; but I have put off the 
fear of man, since I serve God. Tell them the plain 
truth.” 

This happened about noon on the Tuesday. 
Towards evening Taras assembled his men, some 
forty in number by this time, to hold his first 
council of war, laying before them the two most 


GATHERING- STRENGTH. 325 

important points of his latest information. Wassilj 
Soklewicz had come back with the news of the 
mandatar’s matrimonial intentions, and that he was 
in the habit of spending his evenings at the 
Armenian’s villa. The Eoyal Eagle also had returned 
from Kossowince, reporting that the complaints of 
that parish against their avaricious and hard-hearted 
priest were but too well founded ; he had suspended 
all church functions, and was distraining for tithes 
pitilessly. 

“ The measure of iniquity, both of the mandatar 
and of the priest, is full to overflowing,” Taras 
said. “ Let us, then, hesitate no longer to do the 
work, ridding the fair earth of these scoundrels. 
There is danger in both undertakings, for soldiers 
are quartered at the manse of Kossowince. and the 
villa which harbours the mandatar of an evening is 
near the well-garrisoned district town. But we will 
rest our courage in the Almighty, and do the deed. 
To-morrow, Wednesday, afternoon we start, reaching 
Kossowince by night, to bring the evil-doer there to 
his doom, and before the midnight of Thursday we 
must be ready for passing judgment on the mandatar. 
Will you follow me ? ” 

“ Urrahah ! ” was the wild answer of delight, and 
as the men gathered round their watch-fires the 
excitement of action was among them. Nashko 
only had retired by himself, musing sadly. 

“ Poor Taras ! ” he said, sighing. “ These fellows 
understand his meaning no better than any brute 
cattle could follow a Sunday’s sermon. They think 
him a misguided fool for trusting me, and they re- 
sented his refusal to the people of Zulawce. But 
for his resolve to fall to work he might have found 
himself obliged to begin his judgments upon his own 
followers in the first place. Their meanness is 
forced back now within their own hearts, but it will 


326 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


break out again sooner or later. He will hold his 
own against the men of the law, but who shall keep 
his soul undefiled from the breath of these lawless 
ones ? ” 

With the earliest dawn the men began getting 
themselves ready for the intended raid, polishing 
their arms and grooming their horses, whilst Taras 
held further counsel with Nashko and the Boyal 
Eagle, giving to each his special orders. The 
morning passed in high excitement. 

But suddenly — the sun was just nearing. the 
zenith — the alarm was given from the direction 
of the Bed Hollow, and all eyes turned thither ; 
the figure of a horseman was seen coming at full 
speed down the steep declivity. “ The fellow is 
mad,” was the general outcry, “he will break his 
neck in a moment.” 

Taras also was straining his eyes, and grew 
white with apprehension, having recognised his 
young servant, Halko. “ There is trouble at 
home ! ” he cried, rushing to meet the messenger. 

But in spite of the headlong career to which the 
bold rider forced his helpless steed, he reached the 
rocky entrance of the valley safely, and then, just 
at the last reckless plunge, the poor animal rolled 
over, the young man, in a flying leap, coming to the 
ground. A cry of horror burst from the expectant 
band, but the horse only lay gasping ; the youth 
jumping up from his fall like a wild-cat, hastened 
onward with quickening steps, stopping in front of 
Taras. 

“ The chestnut is done for,” he panted, “ but I 
have kept my promise, to reach you by noon. This 
is the mistress’s message ! ” And he reported how 
the commissioner had threatened Anusia. All the 
band had assembled round him, listening eagerly. 
“ The cowards ! ” they cried when he had done, 


GATHEBING STEENGTH. 327 

“ being afraid of us, they are going to wage war 
upon women ! ” 

Taras alone seemed calm. “ It is well,” he said 
to the youth ; “ did you not say the commissioner 
intends to return in the evening ? We will have a 
word with him, then. Julko, I will ask you to bring 
him hither, not harming him, but blindfolding his 
eyes. . . . You, Halko, go back to my wife, 

and tell her to be of good cheer.” 

The Koyal Eagle forthwith led off his men in the 
direction of the Pruth, Taras quietly setting himself 
to inspect the preparations of the others, seeing to 
the needful ammunition, the necessary rations, and 
holding everything in readiness for the night’s ex- 
pedition. Watching him thus calmly engaged, one 
would scarcely have guessed that such a message 
had just reached him, and that he was expecting a 
meeting that must stir his troubled heart to its 
depth. At dusk all was in readiness, the men 
standing by their horses, listening impatiently for 
any sign of Julko’s return. But the last glimmer ol 
daylight faded, the stars shone forth, and night 
spread her mantle over the mountains ; not a sound 
yet, save the murmuring whispers in the tall firs and, 
far off, the hooting of an owl. 

“ The bird of ill omen ! ” said the men, with bated 
breath ; “ who can tell what may have happened to 
Julko ? ” 

But Taras heeded them not, lost in thought. 
The bird’s dismal cry had wakened another voice 
within him ; or, rather, it appeared like an echo of 
his own inner consciousness, which, rising from the 
depths of his being, quivered through him in awful 
agony. And then it seemed as though the bird kept 
crying : “ You are about to shed the blood of man — 
you ! you ! ” 

Jemilian went up to him. “ They keep us wait- 


328 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


ing here rather long ! ” he said anxiously. Taras 
shivered and stared at him. The man had to repeat 
his remark. 

“Never mind,” he how made answer, his voice 
rising as though to silence that other voice within ; 
and he drew himself up. “ Julko may have had to 
wait' before catching him, and the way up the ravine 
is difficult even in daylight. . . . But is it 

that you are afraid of the dark, children that you 
are ! Well, then, light a fire ; it will serve at the 
same time to show off that coward of a commissioner 
when he does arrive.” 

The captain’s words acted like magic, freeing the 
souls of these men as from a nightmare ; and when, 
a few minutes later, a great pile of firwood sent up 
shoots of ruddy flame, spreading light and warmth, 
their spirits rose mightily. They formed a circle 
round the welcome fire, and one of their number 
produced a bagpipe, to the plaintive droning of which 
they fell to dancing that strangest of reels known 
throughout the Carpathians, and which, executed by 
these men and in such circumstances, once more 
assumed what was, no doubt, its original character 
— that of a war-dance. 

Taras did not interfere, but looked for Nashko, 
who once more kept aloof with his own saddened 
thoughts. 

“ What is the time ? ” he inquired. 

The Jew was the only one of all these men who 
possessed a watch, and only Taras and Sophron, 
besides himself, understood the art of telling the 
hour by such means. 

“ Eleven. Are you beginning to be anxious ? ” 

“ No ! What should have happened ? But hark ! 
listen ! ” 

“ I hear nothing.” 

“But I do. . . . Hark!” and Taras turned to 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


329 


the merrymakers with an imperious 4 4 Silence ! ” 
They stood still like statues, and the bagpipe ceased 
wailing. 

They could all hear it now — a peculiar, whirring 
sound, not unlike that of an arrow cutting the air. 
It came from afar, through the stillness of the night. 
44 It is Julko signalling,” the men cried, delightedly ; 
and Taras, taking his own whistle, signalled back. 
A moment’s silence, and again the sound reached 
them — longdrawn, and thrice repeated. 

44 You understand its meaning,” said Taras to his 
men. 44 They have missed the track in the dark. 
Away with you, Stas and Jemilian ; take torches 
and go to meet them, and keep signalling as you go.” 
The two obeyed, while the rest of the men, at his 
word, took their places by their horses. 

But the minutes passed, and nothing was heard 
save the signalling and counter-signalling in the 
wood, till at last the sounds seemed blending, and 
presently the sign was given that the seekers and 
the sought had met. Ere long their voices could 
be distinguished, together with the tramping of their 
steeds. 

Eirst of all the Royal Eagle burst upon the wait- 
ing band. 44 We were sadly detained,” he reported 
to the captain ; 44 two full hours we had to lie in 
ambush by the Pruth, and when the night overtook 
us we missed our way. But we have caught him all 
right.” 

44 Not injuring him, I hope ! ” 

44 No — that is to say, he suffered no harm at our 
hands, but fear may have killed him, for all I know.” 

And, indeed, there was no saying whether it was 
a living man or a dead body that was being brought 
before the captain. Julko, not satisfied with lashing 
the commissioner to the saddle, had ordered a man 
to mount behind him that he might be supported 


330 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


and saved from striking his head against the low- 
hanging branches, blindfolded as he was. A cloak 
also had been thrown round his shivering shoulders. 
Thus the poor wretch clung helplessly to the neck 
of the horse that carried him, the men shouting with 
laughter on beholding his abject figure ; but a look 
of Taras’s silenced them. 

“ Has he fainted? ” inquired he of the man whose 
brawny arm enfolded the commissioner. 

“No, captain,” was the answer, “it is just his 
pretence; only a few minutes ago he implored 
me to let him make his escape, promising me a 
hundred florins if he got away safely. I felt sorely 
tempted to pitch into him, but I remembered your 
injunctions.” And the man looked so disappointed, 
that even Taras could not but smile. “ Untie 
him,” he said. 

It was done. When the bandage was taken 
from his eyes Kapronski staggered and fell, his 
head striking the ground. That was no play- 
acting, for the scene thus suddenly presented to his 
vision might well have confounded a more courageous 
and less guilty man : first and foremost the towering 
figure of Taras, and behind him the hand of outlaws 
armed to the teeth and leaning against their horses, 
all of them lit up by the lurid glare of their watch- 
fire. 

“ Put him on his feet,” exclaimed the captain, 
’impatiently, two men endeavouring to do so, but 
they only got him to his knees. “ For pity’s sake,” 
he whimpered, lifting his folded hands to Taras. 

The latter came a step nearer. “ Ah ! ” he cried 
scornfully, “is it you, friend Ladislas Kapronski? 
Get up, man ; you need not shake like that.” 

The commissioner now managed to stand on his 
legs, but his head hung on his bosom, and his 
clasped hands continued in entreaty. 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 


331 


“ I am not going to say a word concerning the 
matter at issue,” began Taras, “you men of the law 
will just go on murdering justice — well, continue in 
your ways, but. . . 

At the mention of justice, Kapronski gasped, 
apparently recovering himself. “ Yes,” he said, 
with an obsequious bow, “ I always told them at the 
Board it was no use arraigning you , who are as dar- 
ing as you are just ; and you have got the people to 
back you, honoured — much honoured, Mr. Taras.” 

“ Be silent,” cried the latter, “ I am ashamed of 
you, for after all you are a man ! ... It is not on 
account of these matters, or concerning myself, 
that I wanted to see you, but because of your hav- 
ing threatened my wife.” 

“ For pity’s sake ! I did but as I was told ! ” 

“ Indeed,” said Taras, with so searching, a look 
that the commissioner, unable to meet it, shook 
afresh. “ Indeed ! Then why are you trembling like 
that ? Was it not rather an invention of your own 
cowardly brain ? ” 

“ No ! ” exclaimed Kapronski, “ I swear by all the 
saints ” 

“I will take your word for what it may be worth. 
I might well doubt you ; you are fully capable of a 
lie — but the thing in itself is preposterous. That 
you, who call yourselves guardians of the law, should 
think even of such a glaring wrong ! And how 
cowardly — how cowardly it is ! You, with all the 
military at your command, are you not able to 
protect yourselves against me save by attacking 
my wife and children ? ” 

“ Oh, indeed,” pleaded Kapronski, “ did I not do 
my best to warn them ? But my advice was not 
taken. I assure you ” 

“No need of further words ; but listen to what I 
have to say, and take back my message to the 


832 


FOR THE RIGHtf. 


Board. ... No amount of threatening will prevent 
my carrying out the sacred duty I have undertaken. 
And if my wife and my poor children were indeed 
at your mercy, and I knew they would meet death 
at your hands for any act of mine, laid upon me by 
that duty, I would carry out such act unflinchingly. 
Do you take that in ? ” 

“ Ah !— yes— oh ! ” 

“ Well, then, listen again. I cannot hinder you 
from taking my wife and my children to prison, or 
even from taking their lives. But I tell you this : on 
the day you make good those threats, it will become 
my first and highest and most sacred duty to rid 
the land of the worst of evil-doers — of you, the 
so-called guardians of the law. Woe to any of you, 
then, who may fall into my hands ! I shall have you 
hanged, every one, on these trees of ours. . . .” 

“ Oh, no, not me — for pity’s sake ! I was always 
trying ” 

“Well, hanging might be too good for you,” said 
Taras, sternly. “I knew you were an abject 
coward, but this is worse even than the name you 
bear. ... I regret to send you with an honest 
man’s message. For there is yet another matter 
to speak about — and you shall tell them I have 
sworn to you a sacred oath that there is no deceit 
nor cunning in my request, but pity for the 
people alone. I earnestly pray the authorities to 
withdraw the soldiers from Zulawce. The hussars 
have done mischief enough already, and the infantry 
may do worse if they stay. There is no need of military 
occupation, for I give you my word that I shall not 
enter the village, not even if I knew the mandat ar 
to be at the manor. I should bide my time to 
get hold of him elsewhere. Let me repeat it. I 
shall never set foot within the parish of Zulawce if 
my request be granted ; and since the man lives not 


GATHERING STRENGTH. 333 

who could say that Taras ever broke his word, 
perhaps even you will believe me.” 

“ Oh ! — certainly — yes. I myself ” 

“ Stop your talking ! This, then, is the message 
you shall bear ; but I have a word for yourself also. 
See that you keep from lying in delivering my 
message, for the truth sooner or later will come to 
be known ; and if ever I find that you altered one 
single word of what I have told you, I shall ” 

“ For pity’s sake ! I’ll never alter a single letter ! ” 

“ Well, we shall see. I said I would not harm 
you in limb or life ; but since you have shown your- 
self such a mean, craven coward, it is meet you should 
suffer punishment — that punishment which within 
these mountains is reserved for such meanness ; ” 
and, turning to his men, “ Cut off his hair ! ” he 
said. 

“Ah — pity!” groaned Kapronski, but it availed 
him not. He found himself held fast with a merci- 
less grip, while Sophron made short work of the 
commissioner’s well-oiled locks, leaving his head 
like a field of stubble in the dreary autumn. 

“Now tie him to his horse again,” said Taras, 
“ blindfolding him as before.” 

It was done. 

“ Light the torches ! Mount, and let us be off ! 
By the Pruth we will leave him to his own 
devices.” 

The signals sounded, the procession formed, 
vanishing in the deeper shadows of the cleft 
which leads to the river in the direction of Kos- 
sowince. • • * 


CHAPTER XY. 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 

S TARTING from the little wooden bridge which 
spans the Pruth near Zulawce, and following 
the river, about an hour’s ride will bring you to the 
village of Kossowince. It is a well-favoured spot, 
the fertile wheat-fields of the plain spreading round 
about ; yet the village is near enough to the rich 
green slopes of the rising uplands to obtain con- 
siderable returns from cattle-rearing as well. This 
flourishing place in our own days is known again as 
the “rich village,” its much-envied inhabitants going 
by the name of the “ wheat lords,” but there have 
been times when the poorest cottager of the heath- 
country would not have exchanged his miserable cabin 
for the finest homestead at Kossowince. For rivers of 
tears and streams of blood have flowed here for 
religion’s sake. In the days when Poland held sway, 
nearly all the inhabitants of the district had forsaken 
the Byzantine orthodox creed, turning Catholics, if 
not of their own free will, yet under the combined in- 
fluence of Romish Jesuits and tyrannical way wodes ; 
very few of the peasantry had courage enough to 
withstand such persuasion, but of these few were the 
people of Kossowince. Trusting in their numbers 
and wealth, the “ wheat lords ” clung to their ancient 
faith, although every decade brought them a bitter 
experience of persecution. The Austrian supremacy 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


335 


eventually put an end to these troubles, and in the 
days of the good Emperor Joseph the people of Kos- 
sowince might cross themselves from the right to the 
left, or from the left to the right, as they pleased. 
But when that monarch had been gathered to his 
fathers, this important difference once more appeared 
to trouble the ruling powers, most of all his Grace of 
Lemberg, and the villagers soon had proof that 
their heresy was being dealt with. Doubtfully they 
looked into the threatening future, and their horizon 
grew darker still when they learned that all of a 
sudden they had fallen under spiritual sway. The 
lady of the manor, a widowed countess, had seen fit to 
bequeath the “ rich village ” for purposes of Bomish 
endowment, and their new mandat ar proved to be a 
secular priest, a certain Victor von Sanecki, sent 
thither to collect the revenues. He was re- 
ceived with unbounded hatred; yet within the 
space of a few months he had known how to gain 
the confidence, even the goodwill, of the people. 
For this ghostly steward was thoroughly con- 
versant with agriculture ; he proved a good 
counsellor, and appeared not to take the slightest 
notice of the heretical tendency of the village. 
So tolerant was he, that when the elders one day 
uttered complaints against their pope, Miron 
Aganowicz, describing him as a worse drunkard 
than need be, he did his best to find excuses for 
his reverend brother, the result, of course, being that 
Miron, who so far had stood in some awe of spiritual 
censure, drank worse than ever, providing the means 
by various methods of extortion. But the parish 
was possessed of some spirit, and the sheep turned 
against the shepherd ; whereupon the pope com- 
plained to the civil authorities and was victorious in 
the contest. The aggrieved peasantry carried their 
trouble to the ghostly mandatar, but he pointed 


336 


FOB THE RIGHT. 


out to them that the courtesy of his sacred calling 
did not permit him to interfere, making a similar 
statement to his brother Miron, who, on the strength 
of it, oppressed the people more than ever. Matters 
grew to such a pass that the parish petitioned for 
another pope, and, being refused, declared themselves 
willing to be rid of Miron at any price, assuring 
the authorities that they had come to see how 
foolishly prejudiced they had been in opposing the 
ruling faith, and that they were quite ready 
now to profess themselves Roman Catholics, 
provided that the reverend Sanecki, that excellent 
man, might be their priest and mandatar in one. 
This offer was accepted speedily, and on Easter 
Sunday, in the year of grace 1837, the Greek church 
of Kossowince was solemnly dedicated to the Romish 
rite, Sanecki entering on his functions as the 
pastor of this converted people. 

The event made a stir far and wide; it was 
evident that the benign wisdom of an amiable 
priest, within the space of two short years, had 
succeeded in overcoming the stubborn resistance 
which had braved the tyranny of centuries. Not 
many had the clear-headed judgment, or, indeed, 
sufficient acquaintance with Sanecki himself, to 
temper their surprise, seeing he was as unprincipled 
as he was clever. Victor von Sanecki was the scion 
of a decayed family of rank, a native of Posen. As a 
mere youth, iron-willed and indefatigable, sharp- 
witted and full of ambition, he had striven hard to 
reclaim his hopelessly mortgaged inheritance. But 
no saving and no diligence of his could make up for 
the failings of his spendthrift ancestry. He gave it 
up, and, entering the Prussian civil service, turned 
Protestant for the sake of advancement; nor was he 
without prospect of gaining his end, and he might have 
risen to power had not his over-zealous chase after 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


337 


prosperity overstepped the lines of rectitude marked 
out in that country for a servant of the State. He 
was dismissed ; upon which, repairing to Cracow, 
he resolved to read for holy orders. He was barely 
thirty when he thus entered the Church, and upon 
his consecration was appointed to the somewhat 
anomalous charge at Kossowince. His wondrous 
success there failed not to strike the Archbishop, 
who meditated work for him at Lemberg itself, but 
Sanecki submitted his earnest request “that he 
might be left to lead the converted flock in the way 
they should go ” ; for he believed that he could 
gather wealth while so engaged. His ambition 
sated, he was anxious now to satisfy that other 
craving of his debased soul, the love of riches. 

And success appeared to attend his efforts ; but 
the means he had recourse to were appalling. Not 
many weeks passed before the people of Kosso- 
wince discovered that the shepherd they had 
chosen was not nearly so gentle as they sup- 
posed, and before the year was out they had 
come to the conviction that a very fiend was 
addressing them from the pulpit and lording it 
over them at the manor. For it is a fact that the 
fate of every Galician village in those days was in 
the hands of two men — viz. : the mandatar and 
the parish priest. And here this power was vested 
in one and the same — Victor von Sanecki literally 
could do what he pleased. If a peasant refused an 
unjust tithe he as mandatar could send to prison ; 
if lie refused an oppressive tribute to the mandatar 
it was the priest that could inflict the lash of ec- 
clesiastical punishment. The people naturally 
struggled hard against the injustice, appealing to 
the law ; but it was no less in the nature of things 
that they found no redress, since before the civil 
authorities Sanecki claimed the privileges of the 
15 


338 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


clergy, while to his spiritual superiors he pleaded his 
position as mandatar and steward of the revenues. 
Moreover, the stubborn character borne previously 
by the converted parish was remembered, and 
Sanecki was not slow to point out that having 
adopted the Catholic faith for outward reasons 
merely, they naturally were unwilling to meet 
the demands of the Church. So everything went 
against them, for the Bomish creed was in the 
ascendant, and fines were imposed to teach them 
submission. A military detachment was quartered 
upon the refractory parish to enforce payment, and 
when the uttermost farthing had been wrested 
from them their goods were seized ; not till a man 
had been brought to hopeless penury was he left 
alone by the priest. It seemed as though Sanecki 
could commit the vilest wrongs with impunity ; 
but he cared to inflict punishment on those only 
who could offer money or money’s worth to evade 
it, and his direst means of extortion, the refusal 
of Church burial, always fell on the wealthy. 

Such was the man against whom Taras in the 
first instance lifted the avenger’s arm. As it was 
close upon midnight when he with his followers 
started from the Crystal Springs, the Pruth was not 
reached till after two o’clock. And when the river 
had been forded, and the shivering Kapronski left 
to himself, the band in headlong gallop dashed 
onward through the plain. Kosso wince was 
reached, and in spite of the surrounding darkness 
Taras perceived a horseman stationed at the 
entrance. He was appointed by the villagers to 
act as the avenger’s guide. 

Taras and his men drew up. “ How many 
soldiers are there in the place ? ” he inquired ; 
“ and how are they quartered ? ” 

“ There is an officer with fifty men,” reported the 


AN EYE FOll AN EYE. 339 

peasant ; “ Whitecoats from Lombardy with green 
facings. Thirty of them are at the parsonage, for 
the fiend himself lives at the manor, allowing the 
manse to be used as a barracks, for which we must 
pay him a rental of five hundred florins. . .” 

“ And where are the others ? ” 

“Here and there about the cottages, one or two 
in each, all over the village. The officer and his 
man only are lodged at the manor. There are five 
or six retainers there besides, that is all. But have a 
care ; the parsonage is not a hundred yards distant.” 

“ Any sentries? ” 

“ Yes, one — outside the manse. But these fellows 
feel the cold here ; they are generally found cuddled 
up in their cloaks.” 

“ And the villagers understand that they keep 
quiet?” 

“Yes, much as they long to take part. But they 
see it is best so. It is different with me, who have 
nothing to lose. I am Jacek Borodenko, and the 
fiend has beggared me and mine entirely. What 
better can I do but join you for good ? ” 

“We shall see,” said Taras, and turned to his 
men. “ The soldiery about the village need not 
trouble us ; it is the parsonage and the manse that 
require our attention. We will divide our force 
I shall want the Royal Eagle, Jemilian and Sefko, 
Wassilj and Sopliron, Stas Barilko and Karol 
Wygoda, to come with me ; we shall carry out the 
avenger’s part at the manor. You others, all of you,, 
shall follow Nashko. And to you,” he added, turn- 
ing to the Jew, “ I leave it to deal with the sentry 
and make sure that no Whitecoat shall leave the 
manse. I rely on it that I shall not be hindered in 
my business while there is breath left in any of you ! 

. . . But let every man here remember my in- 

junction : he that sheds blood for the mere thirst of 


340 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


it shall meet with his deserts in due time ; hut if 
any of you lay his hand on any property what- 
soever, I shall shoot him on the spot. . . . 

Now let us be gone, keeping silence.” 

And cautiously they moved toward the scene of 
their ghastly labour. The night yet curtained the 
plain, but on the eastern horizon a faint streak be- 
tokened the approach of day. 

By the church they separated. Taras and his 
seven men, led by Jacek, proceeded towards the 
manor, the others halting by the church, while 
some of their number slid from their horses and 
moved away stealthily to seize the sentry. 

“ Do you know the ins and outs of the house? ” 
Taras inquired of the guide. 

“ Yes ; as well as of my own pocket,” replied the 
man. “I was in service there in the days of the 
late countess.” 

“ Then I daresay you can show us some back door 
that will yield readily.” 

“ Hardly,” said the guide, “ for the fiend is on 
his guard; he has iron-barred every door of the 
place. But Michalko, the groom, has a sweetheart 
in the village, and if we are lucky we may find the 
postern ajar.” 

Their very horses trod with noiseless footfall, 
carrying them to their destination unobserved. 
Jacek tried the latch, the door moved on its hinges, 
and the little band dismounted. Wassilj was left 
to guard the entrance, while the rest of the men 
followed their stern captain through a vaulted 
passage into the building. It was their first aim to 
make sure of the half-dozen retainers who slept in a 
large room in the basement. Jacek approached on 
tiptoe. “ The key is in the lock,” he whispered, 
and turned it forthwith. Nothing was heard from 
within but the snoring of the occupants. 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


341 


“ It is as well to be prudent,” said Taras ; “ they 
are sure to wake up with the commotion, and, forcing 
the door, might give us trouble. This is your place, 
then, Sophron and Karol,” and the two men took 
their position accordingly. “Now for the officer. 
Where shall we find him ? ” 

“ On the first floor,” reported the guide ; “ not 
far from the fiend’s lair.” The man, in common 
with all the villagers, thus habitually designated 
their shepherd, as though Victor von Sanecki had 
never been known by any other name. They 
ascended the stairs. On reaching the landing the 
report of a firelock was heard, a second, and a third 
in quick succession ; a din of voices rose in the dis- 
tance ; the garrison at the manse evidently was 
showing fight. 

At this moment a door opened, the officer burst- 
ing upon the scene, his pistol in one hand and his 
sword in the other. But quick as lightning Taras 
had closed with him, disarming him, and with 
powerful grasp holding him helpless on the ground, 
his servant and a lackey or two speedily sharing the 
same fate at the hands of the others. 

“ There is no time to be lost,” said Taras. One 
of the bedrooms was standing open, its window 
was iron-barred, and there was no other outlet. 
“ Push them in ! ” The door was locked upon the 
overpowered men, Sefko being ordered to guard it 
while the others now made for the priest’s chamber. 

They found it secured, but Taras, with the weight 
of his gigantic frame, had no trouble in making the 
door yield, his men, with the butt-ends of their 
muskets finishing the operation. They entered a 
spacious apartment, modestly furnished ; a lamp ex- 
pired, not at the breath of any man, but in conse- 
quence of a sharp draught from an open window, as 
the invaders perceived by the light of their torches. 


342 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


The room was empty, the bed to all appearance re- 
cently forsaken, and the casement wide open. 

Julko rushed to the window. “ Look here ! ” 
he cried, pulling up a sheet that was tied to the 
sash ; “ the wretch has escaped us ! ” 

“ Impossible ! ” exclaimed Jacek ; “ the moat is at 
its deepest below ; he would have broken every limb 
in the attempt.” 

“ But the room has no other exit.” 

“ It has, though ! I know there is a secret closet 
joined to this room by an invisible door. In the 
countess’s time it used to be connected with the 
back-stairs as well ; but the fiend, thinking it a good 
hiding-place for his ill-gotten gains, had that commu- 
nication walled up. I have not a doubt but that he 
is within, caught in his own trap and no escaping.” 

“ Then have you an idea where to look for the in- 
visible door?” 

“ Yes, in this wall,” he pointed to the side where 
the bed stood. The broad surface was covered with 
an antique hanging which, quaintly enough, appeared 
fastened to the wall at regular intervals with large 
metal buttons, forming a kind of pattern. “ It is 
one of these buttons that opens the door,” said 
Jacek, “ if you press down the right one. I have 
seen it done once ; but there are many, and I cannot 
tell which it is.” 

“ That is a pity,” said Taras. He stood listening 
to the confused voices of the fighting without. 
“ Well, if it is the only way, we must just find the 
button. Are you sure the other outlet is walled up?” 

“ Quite certain.” 

“ Then let us try.” 

Several minutes passed while the men were thus 
endeavouring fo discover the secret spring by which 
to move the hidden door, the din outside continuing 
unabated. Julko gave an exultant cry. He was 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


343 


kneeling on the bed, passing his fingers over the 
buttons in the centre when one of them yielding 
discovered a narrow chink in the wall. The door as 
yet did not open, but its outline was plainly marked; 
it was evidently made fast from within. 

Taras snatched at Jemilian’s axe, and, pushing 
aside the bed, he belaboured the wall with all his 
might. The door had begun to split, when a bolt 
was withdrawn inside, and before them stood the 
man they were seeking. 

So sudden was his appearance that those without 
fell back a step. The “ fiend ” in person seemed 
utterly different from the name he bore — a well- 
grown, still youthful man, in the black robe of a 
priest, with a face both grave and handsome, and 
singularly dignified. The pallor of his countenance 
only showed his inward disturbance, his features 
wearing an expression of proudest self-confidence, 
and his eyes flashed imperiously. 

“What is this?” he demanded. “Who are 
you?” 

“I am Taras, the avenger,” replied the latter, 
facing him. “ Your time of reckoning has come ! 
Your stronghold could not protect you ; and neither 
the bold front of courage nor any cowardly whim- 
pering will avail you now.” 

“ Do I look like one given to whimpering?” said 
Sanecki, drawing himself up. “ I am not a coward, 
though I endeavoured to hide from you. What 
else is there left for a peaceful priest when a horde 
of murderers enter his dwelling at night and he 
hears the tumult of bloodshed without ? . . . Your 
name and your purpose, Taras, are known to 
me, but I should scarcely have thought that you 
could think it needful to visit me. My conscience 
accuses me of nothing.” 

“ Hold your lying tongue, you blackest of fiends,” 


344 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


cried Jacek, beside himself, and he would have 
fallen upon the priest had not Taras held him 
back, continuing calmly : “ Then you absolutely 
deny the charge of having committed the most in- 
human wrongs against the villagers, robbing them 
of their property, and of the peace of their souls as 
well ? ” 

“ It is they who speak -falsely in accusing me. I 
have taken from them what belongs to the Church 
and to me by right — not a whit beyond. In my 
case, Taras, you cannot be an avenger, but only a 
murderer, if your conscience will let you. But I 
think better of you, and I demand that you shall 
confront me with my accusers, with respectable, 
trustworthy men, not with a good-for-nothing like 
this Jacek, and I shall know how to answer 
them.” 

There appeared to be a lull in the fighting with- 
out — the firing had ceased, and the general tumult 
was hushed. But within the manor at that 
moment bloodshed was imminent. Jacek, quite 
unable to master his fury, had snatched a pistol 
from his belt, and was pointing it at the priest. 

“ Stop, Jacek,” commanded Taras, wresting the 
weapon from him. “ And you, priest, utter no 
slander ! . . . Say on, Jacek, in what has this 

man offended against you and yours. Say it with 
the fewest of words, and speak the truth.” 

The peasant strove to conquer his feelings. “ My 
father,” he began, speaking with difficulty, “ was 
obliged last year to remain on the upland pasture 
late into the spring. It was an unavoidable neces- 
sity, for the live stock was all we possessed. When 
he returned, this fiend of a man fined him a 
hundred florins, because he had been absent from 
confession and from the sacrament at Easter. It 
was our ruin, and brought us to beggary.” 


AN EYE FOE AN EYE. 345 

A voice was heard through the open window. 
“ Hetman ! hetman ! ” was the cry. 

Taras stepped to the casement. 

“ It is I, Milko, the hunter. The Jew sends you 
word that we have done our part. The Whitecoats 
have laid down their arms.” 

An exultant cry broke from the men, but Sanecki 
grew ashy. However, he recovered himself quickly. 
“It is a lie,” he cried, reverting to the charge 
against him, “ a false accusation. I call the 
Almighty to witness who is my only refuge in this 
hour of need, unless you deal righteous judgment ! ” 

Again Jacek was making a plunge at him, and 
once more Taras interfered. “ I am ready to prove 
to you that I judge righteously,” he said. “ So far 
everything is against you save your own statement ; 
the character you bear, the complaints which have 
reached me, and this man’s solemn oath are your 
accusers. But you shall not be judged without 
being fully convicted. You shall choose for your- 
self two inhabitants of this village to speak for 
you.” 

Sanecki considered a moment. “ Well, then,” 
he said, “ let it be Hawrilo Bumbak and Iwon 
Serecki.” 

“ Captain,” broke in Jacek, “ do not be outwitted 
by this scoundrel. He has named these men because 
they live at the furthest end of the parish. He 
hopes to gain time.” 

“ Never mind, we are in no such hurry. You 
also shall name two men to be called as witnesses 
against him.” 

“ Let it be those whom you know already,” decided 
Jacek, without a moment’s hesitation. “ Harassim, 
the judge, and Stephen, one of the elders, since 
they carried our complaints to you.” 

“ Very well,” said Taras. “ These four witnesses 
15 * 


346 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


shall be called. Follow him, Julko, Stas, and 
Jemilian ; mount your horses below, and get some 
of Nashko’s men, if possible, in case of any 
hindrance from the soldiers about the village ; I 
want those four witnesses with the least delay.” 

“And will you stay here by yourself? ” inquired 
the Eoyal Eagle, doubtfully. 

“Yes; he shall not escape me.” And drawing 
his pistol he took his position in front of the priest. 

The men went on their errand. 

“Now listen,” said Taras, when left alone with 
the culprit. “ The slightest movement on your part, 
and I shall lodge this bullet in your brain. For the 
rest you may spend the time as you please. It 
might be as well to say your prayers, since I may 
not be able to allow you much time presently. I 
have little hope that you will see the rising sun 
yonder in his full-day glory.” 

Sanecki gazed in the direction pointed at with 
unsteady eyes. The window opened upon the vast 
plain, a ridge of cloud in the far east burning with 
a crimson glow. But somehow he appeared to 
draw strength from the sight, the growing light 
kindling his courage. “ It is well I should offer up 
prayer,” he said ; “ less for myself than for you, who 
are in danger of dipping your hands into innocent 
blood.” 

Taras made no answer, continuing motionless 
with uplifted pistol. The priest folded his hands, 
saying prayers with a loud voice. For the space of 
about ten minutes they were thus left alone, after 
which Stas returned with Stephen, the elder, and 
almost immediately after Jemilian with Harassim, 
the judge. 

“ Take your oath that you will speak the truth,” 
said Taras ; and the aged witnesses lifted their right 
hands, swearing. 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE.. 347 

“ Speak, judge ; what is your accusation against 
this man ? ” 

“ i went to him at All Saints’,” said the old man, 
trembling with the memory of it, “to arrange with 
him for the rendering of the tithes we owe him. 
He demanded more than his due, I refused and left 
him ; no unbecoming word had been spoken.* But 
that same evening I was taken up by his orders and 
cast into a miserable dungeon, where I spent a week 
in complete darkness, and all the food he allowed 
me was mouldy bread and rank water. My sons 
implored him to release me, but he said in his 
capacity as mandatar he must punish me because I 
had offended the priest. For a fine of two hundred 
florins, however, he would release me. Now con- 
sidering my age — I am more than seventy — and 
because I should have perished in the damp prison, 
they raised the money ; he took it, charging me an 
extra twenty florins, to refund his expenses of 
keeping me for a week.” 

“ And you, Stephen ? ” 

“ My wife lay dying at the Epiphany,” said the 
elder. “ I called upon the priest to prepare her 
for the great change, by administering the blessed 
sacrament. He refused until I should have atoned 
for a grave offence with the payment of a hundred 
florins. I could not find the sum, and my poor wife 
had to die unaneled, and was buried like a dog out- 
side the churchyard. . . my poor wife ! ” sobbed the 
old man, hiding his face in his bands, “ my good, 
pious wife ! ” 

“ What was the offence he charged you with ? ” 

“ I had crossed myself inadvertently after the old 
style, and he happened to see it.” 

The hetman flushed purple with indignation. “ Is 
this the truth, old man?” 

“ The truth indeed, the Almighty is my witness.” 


348 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


“Have you anything to say for yourself?” he 
now inquired of the priest. 

“ Only this, that they speak falsely,” returned 
Sanecki, with choking voice. 

“ Falsely ! ” cried Stephen, horrified. “ Man, 
think of the Judge above ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Taras quietly, “ it were well he did . 
so. However, let us hear his own witnesses.” 

There was a pause of silence in the chamber, 
the twilight of which was slowly but steadily yield- 
ing to the ruddy glow from the east, a broad stream 
of light flowing in through the window when Julko 
and Jacek returned with the other two witnesses, 
whom the priest had called for himself. 

The men in question entered diffidently — they 
had not been told why they were wanted — looking 
aghast on learning that the priest had seen fit to 
appeal to them. “ To us,” they cried, “ what could 
we say in his favour ? ” 

Taras put them on their oath. “ Now,” he said, 

“ what have you to affirm concerning this man?” 

They were silent for a moment, but then Iwon 
burst out with — “ Just this, that he is a fiend ! ” 

“ Yes, a very fiend,” reiterated Hawrilo. 

“ Have you anything to say for yourself?” Taras 
once more inquired of Sanecki. 

“No, nothing,” he made answer calmly. The 
self-command of this man was astounding. His 
face was corpse-like, but his lips, even at this 
extremity, had a smile, though it was an appalling, 
a ghastly smile. “ I have miscalculated my 
chances,” he said, half to himself — “ miscalculated, 
it is a pity ! ” 

Taras now addressed the men present. “It is 
my opinion that this man has forfeited his life. Is 
there any here to say I am wrong ? ” 

Not a sound in the chamber — Death seemed 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


34a 


counting the grains. But in the fair world without 
the beauty of morning had conquered the shadows, 
the larks meeting the sun with a jubilant song. 

There was a clock in the room, the hands pointing 
to six minutes before five. “These minutes I will 
give you,” said Taras, addressing the doomed priest, 
“ that you may recommend vour sinful soul to its 
Maker.” 

Even now the man quaked not, standing proud 
and erect. “Miscalculated!” he repeated. With 
a quick movement his hand dived into his ample 
garment, and withdrawing it as quickly, he carried 
a phial to his lips. The men caught his arm, but 
it was too late, they were in time only to support 
the dead man’s frame. 

“ What a pity,” cried Jacek ; “ I would have given 
anything to see him swing.” 

“ For shame ! ” returned Taras, sternly. “ He 
was an evil-doer, but he had the courage of a 
man ! Lay him on his bed ! . . . He has at 

least shown us that a man can die, if heed be.” 

There was a solemn pause, after which he 
addressed the judge. “ One thing yet before our 
work is complete. The village has suffered at the 
hands of this man. You shall take what money 
there is found here, to be divided justly among the 
people. . . . Stas and Jemilian, search the place.” 

“ May we not offer you a part for yourself?” 
returned the judge ; “ it were but right and fair.” 

“ No,” said Taras, curtly. 

“ But you will let us give some of it to your men ?” 

“ No, they are no paid assassins, but serving 
justice.” 

“ But you must live ! ” 

“ I have enough for the present to provide for 
our needs, and when my own means fail, others, no 
doubt, will be forthcoming.” 


850 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Stas and Jemilian at this moment returned from the 
adjoining apartment. “ This appears to be money,” 
said the former, placing a cash box upon the table. 

“Force the lid,” said Taras to the judge, “I 
would rather not touch it.” 

But the old man could not succeed with his 
trembling fingers, until Jacek came to his assistance. 
The box burst open with a jerk, revealing, however, 
only a moderate bundle of banknotes, beneath 
which lay a number of securities of considerable 
value. “ The notes only are of use to us,” said the 
judge, counting them. “ Not much over a thousand 
florins,” he stated presently; “the loss we have 
suffered is about twenty-fold.” 

Old Jemilian was standing aside, pale and trem- 
bling, and trying to come to a conclusion. Now he 
stepped up to his master, saying, with faltering 
voice, “I hoped to tell you some other time, but I 
see now you must know at once. There was more 
where we found the casket — a purse, I saw it 
plainly, which Stas put into his own pocket.” 

Taras grew deadly white, staggering as though 
he had received a blow. “Is — is it — true?” he 
said, stammering with the shock of it. 

But Stas fell to the ground at his feet. “ Forgive 
it — this once,” he faltered. “The money tempted 
me. Ah, mercy ! ” 

Taras passed his hand across his brow. “ Where 
is the purse? ” he said, hollow-voiced. 

The man, still kneeling, produced it. 

“ Take it, judge . . . count it.” 

“ Seventeen florins,” reported the old man. 

“ Well, put it with the rest.” He spoke hoarsely, 
a fearful agitation convulsing his frame. “ Stas,” 
he said, presently, with the same choking voice, “ I 
grieve for you with all my heart. You have known 
much trouble, it is hard to see you end so ignomi- 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 351 

niously. But I cannot save you — say your prayers, 
Stas ! ” 

“Ah, mercy ! ” groaned the unhappy man, the 
others joining : “ Yes, hetman, forgive him this 
once ! ” 

“I cannot — dare not,” said Taras, breathing 
hard and wiping the dews from his forehead. “ 1 
would — ah, how gladly would I forgive him ! — 
but this sacred cause ! . . . Say your prayers, 
man.” 

“ Mercy ! ” moaned Stas once more, and fell in a 
swoon. Taras stepped back, and, pointing his pistol, 
lodged a bullet in the motionless head. The man 
was dead on the spot. A cry of horror went round 
the room, and silence settled, the larks outside con- 
tinuing their song of praise. 

“He was unable to commend his soul to God, let 
us do so for him,” said Taras, with the same husky 
voice. He crossed himself, and with quivering lips 
spoke a prayer for the dead, the others repeating it 
after him, awe-struck. 

“ Let us be gone now ! ” 

They left the chamber of death, calling together 
their men, and mounted their horses. But the 
captain’s face continued white and fearfully rigid. 

“ How shall we thank you ! ” said the judge. 

“ Not at all,” returned Taras, sternly. “ For if I 
had done it for your own sakes merely, I could but 
turn the pistol against myself now ! ” He spurred 
his horse, making for the manse, where Nashko 
and his men stood ready to mount. 

“ Three of us have fallen,” reported the Jew, 
“ and we killed fourteen of the soldiers. I used every 
precaution, but' ” 

“ Have we any wounded? ” interrupted the captain. 

“ No — that is, one man is slightly hurt ; but able 
to mount horse.” 


352 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ Let us start, then ; the people here will see to 
our dead.” 

And away they went in a sharp gallop in the 
direction of Colomea. They followed the high-road 
at first, but, turning off at right angles, presently 
plunged into the pathless heath which they 
traversed at a furious pace, reaching the village 
Nazurna just as the thin-voiced church bell was 
tinkling out the hour of noon. 

It is but a poor place, amid all the characteristics 
of heath-country ; there are a few farms at great 
distances one from another, and not greatly 
thriving, for the soil is unproductive, forming 
part of the sterile table-land between the valleys 
of the Pruth and the Czerniawa. A couple of 
miles beyond the village there is a large moor 
called the Wallachian Bog, where, according to 
tradition, in the frontier wars between Poland and 
Roumania a regiment on the march was sucked 
down and suffocated in broad daylight. And 
nothing is more likely, for it is treacherous ground 
indeed, and even the experienced eye is at a loss to 
distinguish where the firm land ceases and marshy 
soil begins, since not only the latter, but the safe 
earth as well, is covered with sedge grass and 
willows far and wide. The waters nowhere rise to 
the surface, and tall trees growing on little islets 
complete the deception ; a larger island covered 
with beech wood forms the centre of the moor, 
and is to be reached only by a narrow strip of 
solid soil which connects it with the firmer land. 

Thither Taras led his band ; he was acquainted 
with the bog and the island, with its overgrown and 
all but secret entrance, from the days when he had 
been in service at Hankowce, not far distant. It 
was an admirable place for his purpose, and not the 
most experienced military engineer could easily have 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


353 


secured a better position for a troop of horsemen 
in constant danger of being attacked by numerically 
superior forces, and in need of a safe resting-place to 
which they might retire after their raids, than this 
spot formed, not by the art of man, but by a freak of 
nature. The extreme loneliness of the neighbour- 
hood lessened every chance of discovery ; while even a 
body of men under hot pursuit could vanish thither 
as though disappearing by magic, and the narrow 
entrance at the worst could be held against almost 
any odds. It was natural then that the “ avenger ” 
should have taken his men to this place of refuge on 
many an occasion, so that to this day it goes by the 
popular name of “ Taras’s Retreat.” 

Cautiously, and not without trouble could the 
men in the first instance take the horses across the 
shrub-grown neck of land to the island, where they 
might rest and take food after that grim night and 
the hard ride since. Yet sleep came to very few of 
them, an unusual agitation counteracting even the 
inviting shade of the kindly beeches. A strange 
humour, something between the madness of utter 
recklessness and the dejection of inward disapproval, 
filled the minds of some. For there were those 
among them that had never shed blood, nor stood in 
danger of death themselves, and who seemed to un- 
derstand all at once that the outlaw’s business was 
desperate work ; they grew thoughtful and somewhat 
penitent, endeavouring to conquer these sensationsby 
breaking into noisy song, or by assuring each other 
that no doubt the coming night would be “jollier” 
still. But others, whose past experience had fortified 
them against the proceedings at Kossowince, felt re- 
gretful on a different score. It had not surprised 
them that Taras should have forbidden plunder 
under pain of death, for that was the way of every 
new hetman forming a band of hajdamaks ; but 


354 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


that he should go to the length of refusing 
an offering of gratitude for service rendered, 
and that he should have found it necessary to shoot 
that poor devil of a Stas for the sake of a handful 
of florins, was beyond their comprehension. And 
thus they came to inquire what bound them to this 
man, who by sheer strength of will had forced them 
to acknowledge a wretched Jew as one fit to lead 
them ; whose foolish notions had offended the people 
of Zulawce, and who actually appeared to expect 
his followers to risk their lives for his ideas, and for 
no earthly gain beyond the barest daily bread. But 
the power which Taras exercised even over these low 
natures was such that they hardly dared breathe these 
thoughts to themselves, far less to each other. They 
lay, gloomy and silent, in the tall sedge-grass, till one 
of them, suddenly jumping up, started a request for 
Karol Wygoda’s bagpipe, at the squeaks and screams 
of which their darker thoughts receded. One appre- 
hension, however, that might or might not yield to 
their merriment, was common to all — the near 
prospect of death. The band which had started so 
full of spirits from the Crystal Springs had already 
lost every tenth man of its numbers, and if the 
attack of a mere ill-defended country place required 
such sacrifice, what might not be the result of the 
coming night, when they would enter the well- 
garrisoned district town ? It was for this reason 
that more than one among them, now joining madly 
in the dance, would turn aside suddenly with a 
strange tremor, to conquer which they would halloo 
the more wildly on resuming the measured pace. 

Taras alone appeared unmoved. With the greatest 
composure he made his arrangements for the night, 
his bearing and his voice showing as little of emotion 
as if he had stood in his own farmyard giving 
orders for the cutting of the wheat. It quite dis- 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


355 


tressed Nashko, for he felt certain that the carnage 
of the past night had left a fearful burden on the 
heart of his friend. He was anxious to lessen it, 
and when Taras beckoned to him to receive his 
instructions he did his utmost to show that neither 
the orders given nor their execution could be blamed 
for the sad results. 

“Seventeen lives,*’ he said, regretfully; “it is 
terrible, indeed ! But I think I may say I did my 
very best to carry out your desire that bloodshed if 
possible should be avoided. It was the watchfulness 
of the sentry that frustrated our intention ; the man 
gave the alarm at once, rousing the others, and since 
I could not leave them time to arm themselves 
fully, I was obliged to dash into action within 
the manse itself, in order to overpower them before 
they had a chance of benefiting by their numbers and 
superior equipment. It was the close encounter in 
rooms and passages — in all but darkness, moreover — 
which resulted in so many slain. There were no 
wounded, simply because in this desperate fray 
neither they nor we could have offered or accepted 
quarter. It was only when the torches were lit — 
and you may be sure this was done as quickly as 
possible — only when the soldiers could see that 
further resistance was madness, the sparing of life 
became possible ; and you may believe me that from 
that moment not a single life ” 

“ All right,” interrupted Taras, preparing to move 
away. 

The Jew looked at him bewildered. “ You are 
impatient of listening ! ” he said. “ I thought your 
heart was breaking because of ” 

“ All right,” repeated Taras, quietly. “ You have 
done your duty. And for the rest — what does it 
matter *? Ten lives more or less — what can it matter, 
since things are what they are ? ” 


356 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


But the smile playing about his lips alarmed 
Nashko even more than the calm he understood 
not. “ Taras,” he cried, “ this is not your own 
true feeling ! ” 

“ Do you think so? ” returned the hetman coldly, 
the same terrible smile distorting the solemn and 
yet gentle beauty of his face. “ I am not so sure.” 

He turned away abruptly to appoint the order of 
sentries until nightfall ; when all was settled he 
expressed his desire to be left undisturbed. “ I am 
going to have a few hours’ sleep now,” he said, and 
retiring to the other side of the island, he threw 
himself into the waving grass, where he lay motion- 
less. 

A good many eyes followed him enviously. 
“ Humph ! ” said one of the men, “ one would think 
he is as little used to butchering as ourselves, 
and he has set this business going, with his own 
hand even killing a man who could not defend him- 
self; yet look at him, sleeping like an innocent 
babe, while conscience with us is a wakeful 
trouble ! ” 

Only Nashko and old Jemilian knew how it 
was . . . 

Not till towards eight o’clock, when night was 
falling, did Taras once more mingle with his men. 
The command was given, and cautiously as before 
the horses were led through the tangled growth 
of the slip of land. On reaching the other side the 
procession formed. Their way would shortly bring 
them into more densely-peopled districts, and there 
was every likelihood that the news from Kossowince 
by this time had reached the district town, so that 
caution was doubly needful. Taras divided his men 
into three separate troops, himself heading the van- 
guard ; to the Royal Eagle he entrusted the leader- 
ship of the second and strongest division, while 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


357 


Nashko should bring up the rear. They were to 
keep within earshot of each other. The signal was 
given, and the vanguard set off at a quick trot, fol- 
lowed in due order by Julko and the Jew. 

They rode on well through the dark and silent 
night, due west at first over the desolate heath, till 
they reached the track between Nazurna and 
Kornicz, which they took. The heavens were 
veiled with low-hanging clouds ; the air was heavy 
and sultry ; the darkness appeared to grow deeper, 
and the path at length could hardly be distinguished. 
Taras kept whistling distrustfully at short intervals ; 
the counter-signals from the two other leaders at 
first were given in return almost immediately and 
in due order, but one of the whistlers behind 
appeared to fall back, and presently his signal 
showed him in a wrong direction altogether. 

Much as delay was undesirable, Taras had to stop, 
and even to turn back. He soon came upon the 
main body, but not without trouble could the stray- 
ing rear guard be brought up. Nashko had missed 
the path on the heath, following a northerly track, 
and when the captain’s signals sounded more and 
more faintly, he believed the divisions in front to 
have quickened their pace, and ordered his men to 
spur on their horses, thus, of course, falling away all 
the further. 

Upon this Taras resolved to keep his forces 
together, as the least dangerous plan in the 
circumstances. Eecovering their direction, they 
passed several homesteads, and presently heard the 
roaring of the Wilchowec, which carries the waters 
of the Dobrowa Forest in a succession of cataracts 
to the Pruth. There a new mishap awaited them. 
They had missed the only bridge spanning the 
turbulent stream, and were at a loss to decide 
whether they ought to seek it above or below them. 


358 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


“ Let some of us ride up the river and some down, 
and those that find the bridge can signal for the 
others,” proposed Julko. 

“ No,” said Taras, “ that Were losing time. The 
Wilchowec must he fordable somewhere. I saw a 
light burning in the cottage we just passed. I will 
go for a guide.” 

And, followed by two or three of his men, he 
galloped back and halted in front of a lighted 
window. In a low-ceiled room a peasant was seen 
sitting beside his wife, showing her delightedly a 
handful of silver coin. It was an elderly man, 
white-haired, and with a rubicund countenance. 
“Hail, old fellow!” cried Taras, tapping at the 
window. 

The peasant started, extinguishing the torchlight 
inside the room, while the woman screamed, and 
then all was still. 

“ There is no cause for alarm ! ” cried Taras, “ we 
beg a kindness of you, that is all.” 

“ What, so late at night,” said the peasant 
within. “ Have the goodness to let us sleep in 
peace.” 

“You have not been asleep yet,” Taras called 
back, growing impatient. “ You were counting 
your earnings. There is no fear of our robbing you ; 
indeed, I will add to your gains if you show us the 
place where the river can be forded.” 

“ Why should you want to ford it, when there is a 
bridge not more than a mile distant, down stream ? 
You cannot miss it, since the hussars there are keep- 
ing a good watch fire.” 

“ The hussars ! ” cried Taras, startled. 

“ Yes, the hussars,” repeated the peasant. “ You 
don’t seem to like it. And I must say it would not 
he advisable for highwaymen to try to cross the 
bridge to-night.” 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


359 


“ Listen,” said Taras, who had recovered himself. 
“ I am not a highwayman, and I take you to be an 
honest peasant. So I will ask you to guide us. I 
w r ant you — I am Taras, the avenger ” 

“ Taras ! ” exclaimed the man, with a tone of the 
greatest surprise. “ Taras ! ” he repeated, leaning 
out from his window as far as he could. “ Is it you, 
indeed? Ah! it is tco much almost to believe. 
What happiness — what honour ! . . . Light the 

torch, wife, quickly, that I may see his face ! . . . 
But no, you want me to come ” — and he drew back 
his head ; “I am coming — coming at once.” 

“ No, stay. Tell me first — are you sure there is a 
body of hussars by the bridge ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly ; some thirty of them. Are you 
in ignorance of their resolves against you at Colo- 
mea ? I know all about it, having been to market 
to-day. And there is no need to hide it now, I 
made fifteen florins — out of my sheep, that is. And 
I have not told you my name — I am Stenko 
Worobka.” 

“ Yes, yes, Stenko ; tell me quickly.” 

“ Ah, yes ; I am an old fool ! It is just this : with 
the early morning to-day the car returned, and the 
two constables safe enough, but no commissioner. 
The town was aghast ; that is, the people said it was 
no great loss if Taras had a fancy for keeping Mr. 
Kapronski ; but it seemed certain that if he meant 
to carry out his threats at all he would come first to 
Colomea to strangle the mandat ar. And so they 
dispatched a courier to Zablotow to call the hussars 
that brought such trouble to your own village, and I 
saw them arrive before night. But the magistrates 
did not approve that you and the soldiers should 
fight it out beneath their own eyes — dear me, that I 
should be able to tell you all this ; what happiness ! 
what rare good luck ! What was I going to say ?— 


360 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


yes, they resolved to catch you on the road, and so 
they ordered the hussars and such Whitecoats as were 
quartered in the city to station themselves in a half- 
circle between the town and the mountains, making 
sure thus to cut off your approach. The soldiers are 
all at their posts by this time ; a body of hussars, 
as I told you, keeping the bridge yonder.” 

“ And where are the rest of them ? ” 

“Well, some guard the road towards Horodenka, 
others keeping alook-out in the direction of Cieniawa; 
others again are by St. Mary’s Cross. They think 
not a mouse could thus pass their vigilance, for they 
keep patrolling diligently.” 

“Well, we have not met a soul so far.” 

“ I daresay — ha ! ha ! what a joke ! — don’t you 
see, this is just the one loophole in their net. They 
make sure that so long as they hold the bridge no 
one could cross this boisterous river.” 

“ Is it fordable ? ” 

“ Yes, to be sure — not very comfortably, but we 
can manage it — close by here. ... So you are 
really bent on going to Colomea? There is no 
reason why you should not do so ; why, they did not 
— ha ! ha ! how delightful ! — they did not keep back 
a dozen soldiers.” 

Taras was revolving the situation in his mind. 
“We will do it,” he said, after some cogitation ; “ it 
is a venture for life and death, but we will risk it. 
But there is not a moment to be lost.” 

The peasant was ready to guide them, and mount- 
ing behind one of the men, they dashed back to the 
others. Taras reported to them what he had just 
learned, “Let us venture,” he said. “Yes, ye3, 
let us try it,” cried Julko and Nashko, in high 
spirits, all the others assentiug. 

Under the peasant’s guidance they forthwith set 
about fording the river ; the current was wild apd 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


361 


strong, the deep darkness of the night adding to the 
danger ; but they crossed in safety. “We have 
managed it, thanks to you,” said Taras to the 
peasant ; “ and here is your florin.” 

But Stenko refused, quite hurt at the offer. “ Do 
you think I should take pay,” he cried ; “are you 
not our own avenger ? Nay, I am more than re- 
warded, and you must let me come with you, for 
this night is darker than the inside of a cow — you 
would scarcely reach the town; besides, you will 
want to ford the river again as you return.” 

“ But you have a wife and your property to think 
of. I must warn you,” said Taras, “ it would go ill 
with you if they caught you thus aiding us.” 

“They won’t then,” decided the peasant, confi- 
dently. “ And don’t you know that a man cannot 
escape his destiny ? If it is my fate to come by an 
evil end I shall have to face it whether I guide you 
or not.” 

After which philosophical remark two of Taras’s 
men had to be satisfied with being mounted one 
behind the other, leaving a horse free for the peasant 
who rode beside Taras at the head of the hand. At 
a sharp pace they traversed the fields and meadows 
of Korolowka, and presently found themselves on 
the high road leading to the district town. The 
country appeared desolate ; but close by the town 
they met some peasants who so late in the night 
had set out to return from their week’s marketing. 
Not that important business had detained them to this 
hour, but the public-house had, as might be judged 
by their unsteady gait. Yet the vapours of drink 
were at once dispelled when they found themselves 
suddenly surrounded andquestionedbyan armed band 
on horseback ; and though trembling with fright they 
were able to confirm the news that all the garrison 
of the place as well as the hussars had been sent to 


16 


362 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


waylay the Avenger, and only a handful of soldiers 
now were within, at the main guard-house, for the 
sake of sentry duty in the prisons. 

They left the high road, Wassilj Soklewicz now 
acting as guide, for he alone knew the villa where 
they hoped to find Hajek. It lay on the road 
towards St. Mary’s Cross, a German colony ; it was 
a spacious building, but low, situated in its own 
grounds, which were guarded in front by a strong 
iron railing. Orchards stretched away at the back 
of it, and meadows on both sides. The nearest 
habitation was a quarter of a mile distant, the town 
fully a mile. Just as they came in sight of the 
place, a clear sound cut the air, the clock in the 
little belfry was announcing the first hour after mid- 
night. And close upon it — already they could see 
the lighted windows of the house — a sharp whistle 
was given, followed by another. . . . 

The men started. “ An ambush ! ” they cried. 
“ Fall back ! ” 

“ No ; forward,” ordered Taras, spurring his horse. 
“ The wretch has set spies to be warned of our 
approach. . . . He is here! There, look! ...” 

He was pointing towards the house, the lighted 
windows of which one after another were darkening 
rapidly. The gate, just as they reached it, closed 
with a bang, and retreating footsteps were heard. 

“ Try your axes ! ” cried Taras ; and some of the 
men, jumping from their horses, belaboured the 
gate with powerful blows. The strong bars were 
bending, and some already giving way. 

But suddenly the door of the villa opened, and 
between two torchbearers an aged man came forth, 
bareheaded, and carrying a key — it was Herr von 
Antoniewicz. 

“ My good people,” he began, “ why are you ruining 
my gate like this? Was there no better way of 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


363 


asking for admittance? There is no reason why 
you should not come in, if you tell me who you 
are and what brings you hither at this late hour.” 

“You know that well enough!” cried Taras; “the 
wretch is in hiding here.” 

“ Yes,” said the old man, continuing slowly and 
distinctly, “ I am afraid we know that he cannot 
escape you, and I am ready to let you in, on your 
word of honour that you will harm no one else, and 
that you will not kill him here, but take him away 
with you. You see I am anxious to spare my 
daughter’s feelings, who was going to he his wife.” 

“ He seems to have found a worthy father-in-law, 
anyhow,” said Taras, scornfully. “However, you 
have my word ; now open on the spot.” 

The Armenian did so unhesitatingly. Julko and 
Nashko with the main body taking up their position 
by the gate, while Taras and some dozen of the men 
entered the grounds. About half of them were 
ordered to watch the exits of the house, the others 
following their captain inside. 

“Where is the mandatar?” inquired Taras of 
Antoniewicz. 

“ Somewhere about the sitting-rooms,” replied that 
worthy man, as quietly as though he were directing 
a casual visitor to his guest. “ At least I left him 
there. He fell in a dead faint when I explained to 
him that I had no intention, nor indeed the power, 
to save him from your hands. I daresay he has re- 
covered by this time, and is hiding in some corner.” 

Taras traversed the ante-hall, where Frau von 
Antoniewicz and the Countess Wanda awaited him 
kneeling. They were in floods of tears, trembling 
with emotion as they caught hold of his feet to stop 
his progress. “ Mercy ! ” they moaned. “ For 
pity’s sake forgive him ! ” Taras endeavoured to 
free himself from their grasp, but they clung to him, 


364 FOR THE RIGHT. 

and he was too much of a man to use force with 
women. 

“Let me go,” he said; “it is quite useless to 
waste a word about him.” 

But they clung all the faster. “What, shall I 
have to see it with my own eyes ? ” cried the 
amiable Wanda with dishevelled locks and rolling 
her eyes — a very picture of despair. 

“ You need not — you are free to leave the house. 
I have nothing to do with women.” 

“ Alas ! ” whined the mother, “ how should we, 
helpless women, venture to face all your men ? ” 

“ They won’t harm you. Moreover, your husband 
is welcome to go with you. Of course you will keep 
in the grounds for the present.” 

He sent an order to this effect to the men keeping 
the front door, and thereupon, with Jemilian, Sefko, 
Wassilj, and one or two others of his most trust- 
worthy followers, he set himself to search the rooms. 
Their torches flared brightly, hut the spacious 
apartments appeared untenanted. They looked 
into every chimney, beneath every couch, and 
behind the hangings with rising impatience, making 
such careful examination that not a kitten could 
have escaped, far less a man. But not a creature 
did they find. They had reached the last room on 
this floor — the dining room. 

It was locked. “Ah!” said Taras, with a sigh 
of relief. The door soon yielded. The table showed 
the remains of dessert, empty champagne bottles and 
glasses half filled. There appeared to have been 
five covers. 

“ Who may have been the fifth at this feast?” 
said Jemilian, wondering. 

“ Caught him ! ” cried Wassilj at this moment 
from the further corner of the room. “ Here 
he is 1” And sure enough something like a man it 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


365 


seemed, but in the strangest hiding place. The 
large fuel basket had been turned upside down, and 
emptied of its contents of firewood, and some one 
had squeezed himself in as best he might. But 
success was not equal to the effort, a pair of coat- 
tails showing treacherously; on Wassilj giving the 
basket a kick it capsized, but the man inside stuck 
fast, yelling, however, vociferously. 

“ That is not Hajek’s voice ! ” cried Taras, 
Wassilj and Sefko dragging its owner from the 
basket. And, indeed, it was not the mandatar, but 
only the fifth at the late banquet, the ere-while 
champion of Poland’s honour — Mr. Thaddeus de 
Bazanski. But how little he that was half-brother 
of Nicolas I. at this moment showed worthy of his 
august descent ! His head and shoulders covered with 
wood chips, his garments torn, his knees trembling, 
and his face so white with terror that the nose itself 
had only the faintest flush left of its usual redness. 
Thus he stood before them, clutching the immortal 
confederatka to his bosom, and so overpowered with 
fear that he could only shiver and quake in speech- 
less agony. 

“Who on earth are you?” inquired Taras, 
peremptorily. 

“ I ... oh ! ... a visitor . • . mercy ! I could 
not help it ! ” 

“ Where is the mandatar? ” 

“ He got away — made his escape while old 
Bogdan kept you talking . . .” Taras stamped 

furiously. “ Ah, mercy, I will tell you everything ! ” 
faltered the whilom conqueror of Ostrolenka, sinking 
to his knees. “ They did not think there was much 
fear of your coming, on account of the soldiers, but 
Mr. Hajek insisted on setting spies, that he might 
be warned of any possible danger. We were still at 
table — and a fine banquet it was — when suddenly the 


366 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


signal was given ; there was barely time left to 
lock the outer gate and drag the mandatar from the 
house. He could not stand on his own legs for 
fear of meeting you ; but since there was a chance 
of his getting away safely through the orchards, and 
gaining the town, old Bogdan and his womenfolk 
undertook to lead you off the scent. They expected 
me to take a part also, but I stoutly refused. * How 
should I deceive this Taras, this noble avenger/ I 
said ; * I shall do no such thing ; for Taras is a 
brave man, an honourable man, a generous * ” 

Which eulogy was not even heard by Taras. 
“ Follow me! ” he called out to his men, bursting 
from the house. “ I want to ha^e a word with that 
pack of deceivers ; where are they ? ” 

“Made their escape, hetman,” reported the men 
at the door. 

“ Their escape ? I will hold every one of you 
answerable ! ” 

The two men in charge of the grounds now came 
up. “Hetman,” they said; “we can hardly be 
blamed. These three deceitful serpents would have 
got round an archangel, not to say the devil himself. 
We had asked them to keep near the house, and 
there they stood awhile, when the old woman sud- 
denly gave a cry with all the antics of swooning ; 
upon which the young one implored us to assist in 
carrying her mother into the arbour yonder. And 
then she fell a-shrieking, ‘ Water ! water ! for 
pity’s sake, get some water ! * Well, as they were 
women after all, and the old man, who kept wringing 
his hands, assured us she would die unless we com- 
plied, what else could we do ? We went for water, 
and returning quickly enough, we found they had 
gone — disappeared in the darkness. We searched 
the orchard, but they have escaped us, much to our 
disgust.” 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 367 

Taras looked gloomy. 

“ I may come back to that presently,” he said, 
sternly; “the next thing to be done is this — the 
house which has given shelter to the mandat ar, and 
whose owners have deceived me so shamefully, shall 
disappear from the earth. . . . Set fire to it, 

in the basement, beneath the roof, everywhere — 
let it flare up quickly . . . but”— and he drew 

his pistol — “if any of you value his life, let him 
beware of plundering ! ” 

The men gave a wild halloo, brandishing their 
torches, and burst into the house. 

“ And what is to be done with this man?” said 
Wassilj, dragging the Polish champion behind him. 

“ Who are you, then ? ” now asked Taras. “ What 
is your name? ” 

“ Thaddeus Bazanski, and — and ■” 

“ I can tell you all about him,” interrupted 
Wassilj ; “ one of the mandatar’s men has just told 
me. He is a miserable wretch, living on his 
betters, and making money in all sorts of mean 
ways. It is he that brought about the engagement 
between the mandatar and that fair, fat creature of 
a countess ! ” 

“ I don’t deny it,” cried the would-be nobleman, 
eagerly. “ But I am sure, if you knew all about 
her, and what bliss awaits your enemy in wedlock, 
you would say * Thank you ’ to me ! ” 

Taras could not repress a smile, the man spoke 
with such utter assurance; but his brow clouded 
again as Wassilj continued : “ He is a Polish noble- 
man by his own showing. True, he is nothing but 
a beggar now ; but he keeps telling his listeners 
how he got money out of his peasants before he lost 
his vast possessions.” 

“ Indeed? ” said Taras, frowningly. 

“Ah, no,” whined Thaddy; “I never owned any 


368 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


possessions. How, indeed, should I have come by 
any land? ” 

“ Well, captain, these are his tales whenever he 
can get a man to drink with.” 

“ That much is true,” said the imperial offspring, 
with woe-begone countenance. “ A man must live 
— I mean, one gets thirsty and is bound to drink. 
And no one will stand me a glass unless I give him 
a fine story in return. They don’t mind the lying, 
so I go on inventing. But I am not noble at all — 
never was, or fought any battles either. My father 
was a poor cobbler, and I — I ” 

“ Well, out with it ! ” 

“ I am nothing particular, at present. How I 
manage to live, most honoured avenger, I have just, 
confessed to you — this young man in that has 
spoken the truth. In my younger days I was a — 
a — well, something of an artist.” 

“ Indeed ! what sort of an artist?” 

Thaddy smiled bashfully, and since the word was 
not forthcoming, he took refuge in signs, passing 
his hands over his jaws and under his chin, at 
which he blushed and smiled afresh. 

“What, a cut-throat ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ; only a barber ! ” cried Thaddy. 
“ As sure as I hope for better days, you may believe 
me — just nothing but a barber ! And I think I 
could give you proof of my craft still. Might I 
perhaps have the honour ” 

“ No, thank you,” said Taras, and turning to 
Wassilj, he added, “ Let him off! ” 

The hero of Ostrolenka bowed to the ground in 
gratitude, and still clasping the famous confede- 
ratka,he vanished into the night as quickly as his 
legs would carry him. 

The men returned. “ We have done it, hetman,” 
they reported. “We have set fire to all the rooms 


A N EYE FOR AN EYE. 


369 


not facing the town, so that it may not be perceived 
there too soon,” 

The signal to mount was given ; and the band 
was ready to start. “ We will yet gain our end,” 
cried Taras. “We will seek the wretch in his own 
dwelling within the town.” 

But he had scarcely done speaking, when the 
tocsin broke upon the night with its own lugubrious 
notes of warning. Taras looked at the villa, smoke 
was rising, but no flame as yet. “ This is not 
the alarm of fire,” he exclaimed, “but rather 
in warning of our coming ! They must have 
received information. Well, never mind ! The 
townsfolk will not harm us, and the few soldiers 
we shall get the better of. I suppose we must 
make straight for the main guard-house, and I 
should not wonder if we found our man there — 
he will not feel safe in his own dwelling. Are you 
ready?” 

“ Urrahah ! ” responded the men, and away they 
went. 

The rest of it happened more quickly than it can 
be told. 

The band made for the town at full gallop, 
every moment swelling the tumult ahead of them. 
All the bells of the place by this time had joined 
with the tocsin, filling the air with dismal, deafen- 
ing sound. The citizens had all awaked. “ Fire ! ” 
cried some ; “ The avenger — save yourselves ! ” 

shouted others. 

Meanwhile the night was lit up suddenly behind 
the riders, volumes of lurid flames rising to the 
heavens. The villa in a moment stood lapt in 
fire. 

The band of horsemen was nearing the market- 
place, the streets were heaving. Everywhere the 
people burst from their dwellings, some barely clad ; 

1G* 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


870 

and from hundreds of horror-struck voices the 
news rang through the air, “ The avenger is upon 
us ! ” Some returned to their houses, endeavour- 
ing to barricade the doors, others in senseless 
terror rushed to the market-place. 

“ Urrahah ! ” was the war-cry resounding ever 
and anon through all the wild commotion. Like a 
mountain stream the cavalcade dashed onward, 
over the heads and limbs of any in their way. 
They reached the market-place. The main guard- 
house was full of light, torches everywhere. In front 
of it the handful of soldiers drawn up with their 
corporal, muskets levelled. 

Taras and his men burst upon the scene. The 
people, shrieking, ran hither and thitber. The 
corporal gave the word, “ Fire ! ” Milko fell from 
his horse, shot to the heart, and Nashko reeled in his 
saddle. Another moment and the soldiers were 
disarmed and cut down to a man. 

Some of the band were left to guard the door, 
the others, following Taras, rushed into the build- 
ing to seek the mandatar. The first-door was 
utterly deserted, but at the top of the stairs two 
venerable figures awaited them, the burgomaster and 
the senior priest, falling on their knees. “ Have 
mercy ! ” they pleaded, “ the mandatar is not in the 
place.” 

“ Where is he, then ? ” 

“We cannot tell. If we knew, we would give 
him up to you, that other lives might be spared. 
He fainted in the fields, and maybe is lying there 
still. The groom who was to accompany him ran 
on alone to warn us of your coming.” 

“ Can you swear it is so ? ” 

They affirmed it on their oath. 

“ Then all the night’s work has been for 
nothing ! ” cried Taras. “ To seek him in the open 


AN EYE FOE AN EYE. 371 

fields would be useless, and the hussars may be back 
at any moment.” 

The signal was given, the outlaws mounted and 
dashed away with the same amazing rapidity with 
which they had come. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE AVENGEB TO THE BESCUE. 

HE terrible night was over, the garrison had 



-L returned ; but an agony of fear was uppermost 
in the district town. What Taras had dared seemed 
well-nigh incredible, and greater than the horror 
of what was past was the direful apprehension 
of what the future might bring. He might return 
any night ; nay, in broad daylight even. 

Thoughts like these also occupied the magis- 
trates, who held a special meeting the following 
morning at the District Board office. The captain 
of the - hussars, and one or two other officers 
had been invited to attend, but they had no 
comfort to offer ; it seemed nothing short of 
a miracle that the raid should have succeeded, 
and more incomprehensible still that the band 
should have made good its retreat. As to its 
numbers, opinions differed greatly. The commotion 
raised by their flying entrance into the town, and 
the rapidity with which they had overpowered the 
soldiers, tended naturally to an over- estimation of 
their strength. There was one witness, however, 
who swore that Taras had fully a thousand men 
under his command. “ A thousand, I tell you, for 
a certainty, on the honour of a nobleman ! ” It was 
Thaddeus de Bazanski who averred this. For 
having got over his fright, the experience he had 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 373 

Undergone appeared to him rather lucky than other- 
wise. And well it might, considering the bottles of 
fine Moldavian the tale would he worth, not to 
mention the halo of importance it cast around 
him ! 

“ A thousand men, I say, at the very least,” he 
reiterated. “You will believe an old officer, who 
for years has ridden at the head of a regiment, and 
allow his fitness for estimating numbers. But 
concerning this avenger, if I may judge by my own 
experience, I should say a manly denunciation would 
suffice to cow him. If you show pluck, he knocks 
under — he did so, at least, with me. * Where is the 
mandatar?’ he stormed, as we met. ‘Taras,’ said 
I, undaunted, * I am a guest under this roof, and a 
nobleman born. I am not going to turn informer ! ’ 
I said this quietly, with all the sang-froid I am in 
the habit of preserving in a desperate situation, 
and, for the matter of that, I have known worse 
dangers in my time. As for him — well he hit his 
lip, and, turning on his heel, said to his men, 

‘ Comrades, it is no use to think of intimidating an 
officer of such standing ’ ” 

But the Board never learned what further the 
frightened Taras had to say concerning that officer, 
for a loud tumult was rising in the market-place, 
coming nearer and nearer. The magistrates jumped 
from their seats, crowding the windows, and an un- 
looked-for spectacle met their eyes below. In the 
centre of a moving crowd there appeared an open car, 
and upon it the lost Kapronski. He seemed unhurt, 
and even in good spirits, for he kept smiling to the 
right and to the left in acknowledgment of the 
people’s salutation ; but he waved his hands only, 
never touching his travelling cap, which was pulled 
low over his ears. 

The excitement of the Board was such that it 


374 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


passed unnoticed when the commissioner did not 
even hare his head on entering their presence. 
They grew aware of it only when, having bowed 
low, he began with somewhat uncertain accents : 
“ I venture to crave permission of the worshipful 
Board to keep my head covered. I am anxious 
to save your feelings, for I — I got wounded — a bad 
cut.” 

“Wounded!” cried the old town surgeon, who 
served on the Board, and unable to restrain his 
professional eagerness, he caught at the cap. But 
the sight of Kapronski, minus his head-gear, was so 
tragi-comical that, with all their anxieties, the 
magistrates could not but smile. 

“ What on earth is the meaning of this,” cried the 
district governor. 

“ It is the punishment which, among the Huzuls, 
is reserved for cowards,” Mr. Wh’oblewski, the 
secretary of the Board, hastened to explain. 

Kapronski rewarded him with a vicious glance. 
“ The secretary speaks the truth,” said he, putting 
on a bold front ; “ but it is not more than is 
reserved for himself and all this worshipful Board 
if you have the misfortune of falling into Taras’s 
hands. He has inflicted this infamy on me for no 
other reason but that I did my duty in carrying out 
your orders.” 

The smiles had vanished. “ Tell us all about it,” 
cried the magistrates, eagerly. 

The commissioner bowed, and began with a 
minute description of how he was carried to the 
Crystal Springs, and of what he saw there. 

“ How many men should you say he has with 
him ? ” interrupted the captain of the hussars, who 
naturally considered this the most important point. 

“ Well, I should say about a thousand,” replied 
the commissioner, unblushingly. 


THE AVENGEB TO THE EESCUE. 375 

u Then this seems to be a fact,” murmured the 
captain, with evident concern ; “that looks bad ! ” 

“ I have not a doubt,” Kapronski continued, “ that 
his one reason for waylaying me was his desire to 
make an example, just to show what awaited 
any servant of the law who dared lift a finger against 
him. In fact, he was going to hang me, and said so 
plainly. But, fortunately, I had prepared an 
answer. ‘ So you may/ I said, ‘ if you dare, for I 
am one against your thousand. But know that if 
you touch me your wife and your children will rue 
it/ ” 

“Why, that was illegal,” broke in the district 
governor. “ I wonder what paragraph of the penal 
code warrants this ! ” 

Kapronski bowed deeply. He had expected this 
objection, and, indeed, had shaped his story so far 
with the one intention of bringing his dastardly false- 
hood, which had caused him plenty of trouble 
already, in the best possible guise to the knowledge 
of his superiors. “Illegal,” he replied, humbly, “no 
doubt ; but I venture to think I was justified by the 
extremity of the situation/’ A murmur, not alto- 
gether of disapproval, went round the Board, and 
even the district governor could only shake his 
old head, grumbling to himself as the commis- 
sioner continued. 

“ The words I had spoken produced an imme- 
diate effect. Taras looked concerned. ‘Stuff!’ he 
said, pretending to be careless ; ‘it is no use trying 
to frighten me with that sort of thing ; your hands 
are bound by the law.’ However, he gave up the 
idea of hanging me, saying he would use me as his 
messenger instead. Two things he charged me to 
bring to your knowledge, most worshipful governor of 
this district ; firstly, that he expects you on the spot 
to withdraw the soldiers from the parishes of Zablotow 


376 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


and Zulawce, and to forbear instituting against him 
any action whatsoever. And he wishes you to un- 
derstand that you are not to dream of stopping his 
intentions by military interference.” 

“Well, I never ! ” cried the governor. 

“ What impudence ! ” echoed the Board. 

“ Secondly, that within four-and-twenty hours you 
are to deliver up the mandatar to his men at that 
particular spot where the Pruth is fordable between 
Zulawce and Debeslawce. He will let you know 
who else is to be given up to him.” 

The Board sat mute with indignant consternation. 
“ And suppose I don’t ? ” gasped the governor. 

“In that case,” returned Kapronski, with his 
deepest bow, “ in that case — I can hardly frame my 
lips to the rest of his message, but he said : * Tell 
him, if he does not comply, I shall set tire to the 
district town and give it up to my men to plunder ; 
and the magistrates, nay, every servant of the law, 
shall be hanged on these trees of ours — the governor 
first and foremost. I look upon them as a set of 
infamous cowards, and to show them how we deal 
with such, I’ll visit on your head the ignominy 
which I consider is theirs.’ And having treated me 
as you see, he had me put down by the river that I 
might find my way back as best I could.” 

A series of groans went round the room, Captain 
Mihaly recovering himself first. “ Well, gentlemen, 
it’s no use to hang our heads,” he cried. “ Orders 
for reinforcements must be despatched at once.” 

“ Certainly,” assented the burgomaster, “ it is best 
to declare war against this man on the spot. But,” he 
added cautiously, “ I suppose the town itself is 
sufficiently protected by the garrison ; you, captain, 
I daresay, will guarantee its safety ? ” 

“We shall fight to the last man if need be,” 
replied the gallant soldier; “but I can guarantee 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. ‘ 377 

nothing beyond. If this bandit has really a thousand 
cut-throats to do his bidding, my squadron and the 
handful of infantry stationed here cannot make any 
stand against him.” 

The old man fell hack in his chair white as death. 
“ Then,” he groaned, “ the mandatar must leave 
this town at once, even if we must get rid of 
him by force; and it might he well to let it be 
known as widely as possible, perhaps send a mes- 
senger to Taras.” 

But the brave governor by this time had recovered 
himself. Bising, he put forth his hand, as if to 
silence the burgomaster. “ This shall not be while 
I live,” he said earnestly. “ It is indeed a terrible 
matter we have to face, but let us face it like men ; 
let us rather die than act meanly — let no act of ours 
cast a slur upon the dignity of legal justice ! This 
Mr. Wenceslas Hajek has done nothing, so far as I 
am aware, to justify us in refusing him protection ; 
let him stay here as long as he pleases. If he will 
leave us of his own accord, all the better; but if 
he chooses to stay, beware of annoying him.” 

“ Well, and will you undertake the fearful respon- 
sibility of it all ? ” cried the burgomaster, excitedly. 

“ I will,” said the governor, solemnly ; “ I will he 
answerable both to the Emperor and to God.” 

“ But I daresay it would need only a hint to 
Hajek,” interposed the captain. “ I know what 
stuff the man is made of. If he is told that all of 
us are in danger of our lives here, he’ll be ready to 
leave us with post-horses even.” 

“Well, and where is he to be found, if that is the 
case?” inquired the governor, open to this rea- 
soning. 

“ I can tell you,” cried Dr. Starkowski, “in no 
less a place than the town gaol. On my way hither 
I was told so by the chief constable. Hajek, it 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


378 

appears, came to him at daybreak this morning, 
imploring him to have him shut up, since prison was 
the only place of safety. He is quite beside himself 
with terror, I hear — an object to behold.” 

“Well, the mandatar may consider his move- 
ments by and by,” said the governor. “ Our chief 
care for the present is the question of reinforce- 
ments, as the captain has pointed out. And con- 
sidering the urgency of the case, I will forthwith 
despatch letters to the nearest military stations at 
Stanislaw and Czernowitz. And I will also have 
matters reported to the Provincial governor — I 
mean I will not do so by writing only, but will 
despatch one of the commissioners to Lemberg, 
to add every information by word of mouth.” 

At which Kapronski gave a jerk, craning his neck 
eagerly. 

“ Wait till you are asked !” cried the irritated 
governor. “ On consideration I have hardly any 
choice but to send you ! It will be as well to get rid 
of that cropped head of yours for a while — the people 
here are frightened enough already, without keeping 
before their eyes such a lively reminder of Taras’s 
visit as you present. Besides, I daresay you will 
prove an interesting sight to the gentlemen at 
Lemberg. I shall expect you to he ready within 
half-an-hour.” 

Kapronski bowed as deeply as before, hardly 
knowing how to hide his satisfaction. He had suc- 
ceeded in making his own confession of the false- 
hood he had been guilty of; and had not only, as he 
believed, revenged himself on Taras, but on his col- 
leagues as well. He had paid them out, he thought, for 
the slights with which they were apt to treat him, and 
it delighted him to see them all afraid for their lives. 
Moreover, his falsified report resulted in one thing 
his cowardly soul approved of — the prospect of mill- 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 379 

tary reinforcement — for he could not have foreseen 
his being sent away from the menaced city. But 
since the governor’s decision now promised to place 
him personally out of danger, a really malicious 
thought presented itself to his dastardly mind— he 
remembered what Taras actually did say. “ Your 
worship,” he began, and his voice quivered with the 
consciousness of his meanness. “ I venture to 
submit . . . my own impression . . . fully 

alive to the importance of the case. . . 

“ Well, and what have you to say ? ” 

“ Only just this. Would it not be well to antici- 
pate any trouble this bandit is likely to give ; to 
make it impossible, and, perchance, even force him 
to sue for peace ? I know how easily he is 
cowed. . . .” 

“ It would seem so,” cried the burgomaster ; “ at 
least, he has thus been described to us already.” 

“Yes, and by whom?” growled the governor, 
with a contemptuous glance at the victor of 
Ostrolenka, who, after having given his evidence, 
had retired to the wall, where he still stood, grinning 
and smirking. “ What is it you were going to say, 
Mr. Commissioner ? ” 

“ Only this, your worship. I have stated how I 
was able to save my life from the hands of this man. 
Now, supposing this most honourable Board could 
see its way, in consideration of the imminent 
danger wherewith the town is threatened, to issue 
an order for the arrest of the wife and children. . .” 

“We might, indeed, be driven to it,” said the 
burgomaster, half under his breath. 

“ What ! ” roared the governor, white and 
trembling with passion. “ Oh, the shameful dis- 
grace, that an official of this district dares make 
such a proposal ! Coward, that you are ! ” 

Kapronski felt the withering contempt, and 


380 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


shrunk back. “ I meant it for the best,” he 
stammered, “ and I am sure I will not breathe a 
word of it at Lemberg if it is disapproved of.” 

“You are likely to be sent now ! ” muttered the 
governor, pacing the room furiously. “ Is this the 
man to be sent in the present emergency, when so 

much * ’ The rest was lost in an angry mumbling. 

The man’s whole nature seemed in an uproar. At 
last he subsided, and, standing still before the 
frightened Kapronski, he said, “ You shall go ; but I 
shall take care that the letter you carry be suffi- 
ciently explicit. You may come for it in an hour.” 

“ The commissioner heaved a breath of relief, and 
turned to go, but not without experiencing another 
shock, for the governor called after him, “ Stop a 
moment; if the mandat ar chooses to leave you 
might as well travel together. I shall allow you a 
couple of constables.” 

Kapronski stood rooted to the ground, his eyes 
starting with terror. If he had been offered old Death 
itself as a travelling companion he could not have 
trembled more at the prospect. “And what if 
we are attacked? — Taras ” he groaned. 

“ In that case you would be lost either way ; ” 
with which comfort the wretched man had to be 
satisfied. The governor now addressed himself to 
Starkowski, begging him to visit Hajek in his 
voluntary confinement. “ I know I can trust you 
with this delicate business,” he said ; “ you will 
represent matters correctly to him, without exercis- 
ing any pressure.” 

The lawyer agreed readily, and went on his errand 
at once. But the abject creature lying on a couch 
in a private apartment in the city gaol did not strike 
him as likely to come to any resolve. He was 
positively delirious with fear, and the warder had 
not a little trouble to keep him quiet. 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 381 

So after all Mr. Kapronski started on his journey 
without the mandatar ; not, however, without a 
numerous retinue. For no sooner had it become 
known that Captain Mihaly had not considered it 
possible to guarantee the safety of the town, than 
eveiy citizen that had a chance of horses prepared 
for flight. And those who could not get away them- 
selves were anxious to send, at least, wife and child 
and the best of their movables out of the town, 
which seemed doomed. The streets for some hours 
presented a picture of distress and unspeakable con- 
fusion, since the poor folk were hard driven for time 
if they wished to set out with the commissioner and 
his escort. At noon the sorrowful procession was 
ready to start, in the very centre of them all the 
commissioner on his car ; but instead of two con- 
stables there were twenty of the hussars, which 
escort the governor had been prevailed upon to 
grant upon the sore entreaties of the fugitives. 

But this was the only concession he made to the 
craven fear that had possessed the populace. Herr 
von Bauer proved in those days that, with all his 
comical weaknesses, he was a man indeed. 4 He 
called together the citizens, suggesting that they 
should organise themselves into a body of special 
constables for the safety of the town. But that 
chicken-hearted population met his well-meant pro- 
posal with positive indignation. “We are not going 
to be brought to ruin,” they cried. “We shall en- 
deavour to conciliate Taras if he returns ; maybe 
he will be satisfied with the heads of those who 
have offended him.” Nay, worse than this. “ We 
are not going to be butchered for the sake of a black- 
guard land-steward ; if you do not rid the town of 
his presence we shall do it ourselves, and so tho- 
roughly, we warrant, as will please even Taras.” 
The district governor was by himself, facing the 


382 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


seething crowd ; but his reply was as plucky and 
curt as possible. “ You idiots ! you cowards ! ” he 
cried ; “ I can’t make men of you, of course, nor 
force you to defend yourselves ; but be sure of this, 
I’ll have every man of you shot that lifts a finner 
against the mandatar.” In the consternation which 
followed he walked away quietly. But the very next 
hour showed that he was likely to be as good as his 
word, when, amid the beating of drums and the 
pealing of bells, martial law was proclaimed in the 
city and district oi Colomea. The citizens were in- 
formed that they must keep within doors, that every 
gathering of mobs would be treated as open rebel- 
lion, and any attempt upon life or property punished 
with the gallows. The worst was thus staved off, 
and disorder within was not likely to join hands 
with any horrors from without. 

At the same time couriers were despatched in all 
directions, not merely to the neighbouring military 
stations, but even to some of the larger villages of the 
plain, where the peasantry, eight years before, when 
the great Polish insurrection threatened to spread into 
Galicia, had volunteered their services for the safety 
of the town. And at sundown Herr von Bauer, 
worn out with the day’s anxiety, had at least the 
comfort of knowing that he had done what was pos- 
sible for the averting of trouble ; if the night passed 
peaceably the town was saved. 

And there was no disturbance, but the morning 
brought one batch of ill-news after another. The 
messengers came flocking back from the plain 
stating that the peasantry everywhere repudiated 
the idea of yielding assistance. “ We are not going 
to turn against our own flesh and blood,” they had 
said, “and we advise the men of the law to make 
their peace with Taras, for he is just.” And more, 
it seemed as if the peasants round about, not satis- 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 883 

fied with keeping neutral, were ready to side 
openly with the avenger. Every hour swelled the 
reports coming in from the mandatars, landlords, 
and parish priests of the district, all concurring that 
the peasantry were at the highest pitch of excite- 
ment ; that the success which had accompanied 
Taras’s first deed of vengeance had roused the spirit 
of opposition everywhere, and that the worst might 
happen unless Government carried matters with a 
high hand. But the most appalling news was this, 
coming in about noon, that in the past night the 
avenger had dealt justice elsewhere; that he had 
appeared about midnight in the village of Zadu- 
browce, setting free a number of peasants who were 
kept in gaol because of arrears of forced labour ; that 
he had called upon the mandatar of the place to answer 
for his doings in the presence of all the people ; and 
that after a careful trial he had decided to let him 
off a disgraced man with his head shorn, warning 
him at the same time that he would forfeit his life 
if he continued oppressing the people. But strangely 
enough — so ran the report — he gave the peasantry 
a similar warning, in case they should attempt any 
plundering of the manor. But if this latter piece of 
information contained any comfort, there was the fact 
to be set against it that the village in question was far 
out in the plain, bordering upon the Bukowina. It was 
beyond anything to be conceived that these outlaws 
had dared the distance, there was not a shadow of 
an explanation how they got thither, and no one 
knew whither they had vanished. It seemed but 
poor consolation that by the evening a troop of 
dragoons arrived from Stanislaw, especially as their 
captain brought the information along with him 
that further reinforcements must not be expected 
under a week. About midnight, however, the in- 
fantry returned from Zulawce, Captain Stanczuk 


384 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


having led hack his men on his own responsibility, 
in consequence of what appeared to him certain 
information of a meditated attack upon the district 
town. Now this officer was a man whose judgment 
might be trusted, it being known that, having grown 
up among them, he understood the peasantry ; and 
when he also reported an ominous excitement about 
the country, giving it as his opinion that the danger 
was not to be trifled with, it was resolved to keep 
together what forces so far were available — about five 
hundred men in all — for the protection of the town 
itself, and to deal with the disturbed state of the 
country only when further reinforcements could be 
obtained. 

April merged into May, but there was no further 
attack upon the town, although nightly expected, 
and the remainder of the garrison at Kossowince 
arrived safely at Colomea ; but there was a constant 
feeling of the proximity of Taras’s band, and the 
reports pouring in proved that this man, for good or 
for evil, swayed the minds of the peasantry through- 
out that part of the province. For, incredible as it 
seemed, it had to be accepted as a fact that Taras, 
whatever might be thought of his ‘judgments,’ 
exercised his influence in a marked degree for 
actual good. The governor, with a grim smile, had 
entered that account of events at Zadubrowce along 
with the “ charges against Taras and followers ” ; but 
almost every day since had brought fresh proof that 
Taras really had forbidden the peasantry under 
pain of death to have recourse to plunder, or even 
to seek their rights for themselves, and, more 
remarkable still, that he insisted on their yielding 
every just tribute. And this information did not 
proceed from any of his adherents, but from the 
mandat ars, the landlords, and the parish priests, who 
hated this “ avenger” as their natural enemy, and 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 


385 


would have been only too glad to see him taken up 
as a malefactor. For if the influence of this 
strangest of bandits for good could not be denied, 
neither was there any gainsaying that he exercised 
it in a terrible degree for ill almost daily. That 
steward of Kossowince had found some companions 
in his grief, who with the loss of their hair had been 
“ disgraced ” and obliged to make amends to the 
people they had wronged ; while two landlords of 
the plain, not far from Horodenko, had fared worse : 
Taras had ordered them to be shot, and their 
dwellings levelled with the ground. But the 
man whom these accounts might well have dis- 
mayed first and foremost knew nothing about them. 
Wenceslas Hajek, lying in a raging fever, was 
mercifully saved from the shock of such news. 
Taras’s “judgments/’ indeed, were appalling, and 
within three weeks no less than ten distinct cases 
were registered against him. And they resembled 
each other closely. He arrived suddenly with his 
band, cut off every retreat, took up the accused, 
tried him, and if he denied the charges, called 
witnesses, had him convicted, and the sentence was 
carried out on the spot. It was a remarkable fact 
that he carried out his judgments with the bullet 
only, none of his victims coming by their death by 
means of the rope ; another feature was that any 
money that was found he invariably made over to 
the community for whose sake the deed was done. 
In short the cases were so like each other, and 
followed one another so rapidly, that the district 
governor quite got into a routine of filing charges 
against Taras. 

Not till the end of May was the pressure on the 
minds of the citizens somewhat relieved. A battalion 
of infantry had been sent from Stanislaw, a regiment 
of dragoons from the Bukowina, and a regiment of 


17 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


386 

hussars besides. With these troops there arrived 
also a lieutenant-general to take the entire command, 
and he forthwith called a council of war, to which, 
besides the military chiefs, were admitted the district 
governor, the burgomaster, and Dr. Starkowski as 
legal adviser. 

Now while this council was sitting round the green 
baize table of the district court, a special messenger 
arrived with a letter from Hankowce, addressed to the 
governor. “ From Hankowce,” exclaimed Herr von 
Bauer dismayed, “ alas, poor Zborowski ! . . . but 
no, he can’t be killed,” he corrected himself, “ for 
it is his own handwriting ! ” 

He tore open the missive, read it, and, pushing 
the letter from him, he burst from his seat with a 
crimson countenance, striking both his fists on the 
table. 

“ Gentlemen,” he cried, “this is beyond any- 
thing ever heard of ; enough to madden the Chief 
Justice himself. There, read for yourselves, an$ 
tell me if it is not simply maddening ! ” 

The gentlemen made haste to comply, and what 
they read in that letter certainly was startling. The 
lord of the manor of Hankowce, Baron Alfred 
Zborowski, one of the most respected noblemen of 
the district, had written to his friend, the governor, 
with all the haste of one reporting a most unusual 
occurrence, for Starkowski had some trouble in 
making out the shaky handwriting. The letter ran 
as follows : 

“ We have just been saved as by a miracle from 
almost certain death. You know that I have never 
been a hard landlord ; my peasants are kindly treated, 
and there has never been a point of contention 
between us till within these last weeks. But after 
the rising of Taras my people appeared entirely 
changed. They no longer touched their caps to me 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 387 

refused the labour they owed me, and there was a 
good deal of seditious speaking and of getting 
drunk at the public-house. I did what I could to 
prevent worse things, yielding one point and 
another, but to no purpose. They grew only the more 
refractory, and it ended in their sending a deputation 
to me, a lot of young fellows armed with scythes 
and firelocks, demanding a loan of fifty florins. I 
refused it. They returned in the evening, about 
double the number, all more or less in drink, and 
not merely young men, but a great many of the 
older ones as well. There seemed nothing left but 
to yield, for how could I oppose them with a hand- 
ful of retainers, and I dared not risk the safety of my 
wife and children. So I paid them the money. 
They went off brawling, spending it in drink forth- 
with. The day before yesterday they returned, 
some of my most trusted peasants among them, 
grievously drunk. 4 We want one hundred florins' 
of the money you have stolen from us, you robber, 
you tyrant,’ cried their spokesman, a certain 
labourer of the name of Juzef Supan, 4 pay it at 
once, or 'we shall call Taras.’ ‘Well, call him,’ 
I said. ‘ I know him, and he knows me, for he was 
in my service twelve years ago ; he knows I am no 
unjust man.’ But they had only abuse in return, 
concluding, ‘ We don’t even want Taras, we can help 
ourselves. Either you give us a hundred florins 
here on the spot or we’ll make you rue it ! ’ What 
could I do ? I paid the money and off they went. 

“ My poor wife and I were left to consider the 
horrors of the situation. There was little doubt 
of how it would end — they would return with 
increased demands, or, more probably, would fall to 
plunder. Life itself was in jeopardy, and no help to 
be had. Even flight was impossible ; for how could 
we risk it when rebellion is up everywhere ? We 


388 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


could only look at one another in mute despair. 
Some hours passed, when suddenly my wife started 
from the couch on which she had buried her tearful 
face, looking at me with luminous eyes, as though 
she had had an inspiration. ‘ Husband !’ she cried, 
4 you call Taras !’ I stared at her, aghast, believing 
her demented with the agony of our fears. * My 
dear,’ I said, ‘ you know not what you are saying ! 
My referring to him so .confidently in the presence 
of these rebels was like a drowning man’s snatching 
at a straw — nay, not even that ! True, I have not 
been a hard landlord — the Almighty is my witness 
— hut how should Taras care? Don’t you know 
that he is no better than a cut-throat now ; up in 
arms against the noble and wealthy of the land ? 
If I called him we were lost, if we are not so 
already ! ’ ‘No, we should be saved,’ cried she, 
warmly. * Why, you know yourself we never had 
a more honest fellow in our service. I well remem- 
ber his driving me once over to Colomea. I was 
struck with a peculiar sadness in his face ; and on 
my inquiring what ailed him, he, in the most simple, 
straightforward fashion, told me it was about a girl. 
Now, it was just a tale of troubled love, nothing 
at all particular, but a man who could thus sorrow 
about a girl, and speak as he did, has a heart, I say, 
to pity us and our children.’ I thought she was 
imagining a good deal ; but, as she clung to her 
fancy, I no longer tried to contradict her, but set 
my face to the doing of a desperate duty. I did not 
send for Taras — for where, indeed, could I have looked 
for him ? — but I gave orders to barricade the doors ; 
and, arming my men, I placed wife and child in the 
strong room of the tower, prepared for the worst, 
and resolved to meet it. 

“ The day passed quietly, but with the approach 
of night we heard them coming — a mob of several 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 389 

hundred — the very women among them. They 
roared for admittance. ‘We’ll have it all back 
what you have robbed us of!” they cried, and 
forthwith prepared to force an entrance. The 
strong portal was groaning beneath the blows of 
their axes — it must yield, and we are lost ! At this 
terrible moment a thunderous noise filled the air, 
the echoing hoof-treads of a body of horse bursting 
upon us. f The hussars ! ’ cried my steward ; but 
no, for the mob was shrieking, ‘ Urrahah, the 
avenger ! ’ When I heard that I knew the hour of 
death had come. There was an ominous silence, 
when a mighty voice fell upon my anxious ear : 

* You are lying, you wretches, I know the man ! * 
and presently, ‘Up, comrades, make sure of this 
murderous lot ; let none escape ! ’ It was Taras 
himself. My men gave a cry of hope, but I felt 
stunned. There was a knocking at the gate pre- 
sently, and a voice saying, ‘ Open, sir ; I have come 
to save you ! ’ My men let him in. 

“ Taras, indeed, stood before me, but I should not 
have known him again, so old, so worn he looked. 
‘ My poor master,’ he said, taking my hand, ‘ what 
must you have suffered, and the dear lady and the 
children ! But fear nothing now, come with me 
and we will settle matters.’ I followed him 
speechless. ‘ Nay, stop,’ he said, with the sweetest 
smile, ‘had we not better send word to the lady 
first, she will be anxious, and I would not have her 
be troubled a minute longer than I can help ! ’ I 
called one of my men, sending him to her with a 
message, but then — I am not ashamed of owning 
it, I have not shed a tear these thirty years, but 
there was no fighting against it now. . . . 

‘ Poor master,’ he said, * be comforted.’ He spoke 
to me gently, as to a child, and drew me along with 
him to face the peasantry. A strange sight indeed — 


390 FOR THE RIGHT. 

they stood like a flock of sheep when a storm is 
bursting, pressing against each other for very fear, 
and surrounded by a number of Taras’s men armed 
to the teeth, every third man carrying a blazing 
torch besides. By the outer gate I perceived a 
further number, motionless on their horses, and 
drawn up like a body of cavalry, their leader a 
man in peasant garb with marked Jewish features. 
‘ Now,’ cried Taras, looking sternly at the mob, ‘ here 
is the man you have accused to me ; let me hear, 
then, what he has been guilty of to justify your 
murderous attack. But I will have the truth — and 
woe to the man that dares a falsehood ! ’ Upon 
which most of them fell on their knees, crying for 
mercy; a few only remained stubbornly on their 
feet, and there was but one who had the 
courage to make answer — it was Juzef Supan who 
said : ‘ We did not think that you, the people’s 
avenger, would take the part of a Polish noble — a 
landlord — is not that enough in your eyes ? He did, 
however, oppress us, like all of them ! ’ ‘ You are 

not much of a witness,’ said Taras, ‘I happen to 
remember you. Your heart is a swamp, and your 
words like its poisonous exhalations. Is there any 
one here who can come forward with proof of the 
baron’s oppression ? ’ Juzef scowled, but the 
peasants cried : ‘ Forgive us, he led us on, saying, 
This is the time when poor folk can enjoy 
themselves for once, and the rich men must pay ! 

And so we * . . . ‘ Turned rogues and all 

but assassins,’ interrupted Taras, and his eye shot 
fire ; ‘ do you think these are the people that have 
any claim on me ? You have deserved death every 
one of you for thus dragging low the sacred cause 
I have espoused ; for making the holy right an 
excuse for the doing of meanest wrong. Yes, you 
have forfeited your lives ; but, believing that you 


the avenger to the rescue. 391 

have been misled, and that you are willing to 
repent, I will grant you- forgiveness, unless the 
baron himself would have you punished.’ ‘ Surely, 
I forgive them heartily,’ I cried. ‘In that case,’ 
he continued, ‘I have but three things to see 
to. Firstly, you shall begin to-morrow with 
rendering whatever labour you owe to the baron; 
and you will behave reverently, as he deserves at 
your hands. If any of you, after this, dares offer 
him any slight, or withholds any just tribute, be it 
but a sheaf of wheat or an hour of your time, I 
shall have him shot, as sure as there is a God above 
us.’ ‘We will render our every due,’ they cried. 

‘ Secondly ’ — and he turned to me— ‘ do they owe any 
arrears ? ’ ‘No.’ ‘ But they have refused labour — 

for how long?’ ‘About three weeks.’ ‘That is 
eighteen working days. And how much in money 
did they force you to give them ? * ‘ One hundred 

and fifty florins ; but I acquit them of it.’ * Ah, but 
that is not justice,’ he exclaimed, with a look that 
brooked no contradiction ; and, addressing himself 
again to the peasantry, he called upon their judge 
to step forth. But that good man was not of the 
rioters ; only one of the elders, Grigori Borsak, 
had joined the mob, and shamefacedly he presented 
himself. ‘ The eighteen days* labour,’ said Taras, 

‘ shall be doubled, and are due to the baron whenever 
he chooses to call on you within six weeks from 
this day. But as for the money, or at least its 
value, i’ll see it paid back this very hour. You 
must raise it on the spot ; some of my men will go 
with you about the village, and you had better not 
keep us waiting. And now for the third matter.’ 
His voice swelled like thunder, and at a sign from 
him Juzef was dragged forth. ‘Ah! forgive him!’ 
I cried ; but he shook his head. Another sign- 
two shots — and Juzef fell a corpse at our feet 


392 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


The peasantry, horror-struck, rushed back to the 
village. ‘Well, then, this is settled,’ said Taras, 
turning to me. ‘I have but to wait now to see 
them make amends for what they robbed you of.’ 
But I stood mute, the awfulness and the generosity 
of this man seemed overpowering. He, too, was 
silent awhile, and then he said softly, almost 
humbly, ‘I would like to see the lady and the 
dear children, but I dare hardly ask it.’ ‘ Certainly,’ 
I cried ; ‘ forgive my neglect. Besides, she will 
want to thank you. It was she who insisted that 
you would save us if I would but send for you.’ 
‘No! did she, indeed?’ he exclaimed, blushing 
for very pleasure ; yet he followed me bashfully, 
almost reluctantly. 

“ But my wife was coming to meet us, bathed in 
tears and holding our youngest child in her arms. 
She flung herself on her knees before him, but he, 
with a gesture of dismay, lifted her gently, and, 
bowing reverently, kissed the hem of her garment. 
‘ Dear lady,’ he said, ‘ I am told that you still 
think kindly of your former servant ; and be sure he 
has never forgotten either the baron or yourself. I 
heard of your plight two days ago, but could not 
come sooner — not till I saw judgment done upon the 
mandatar at Bossow.’ ‘ Bawinski ! ’ she cried, dis- 
mayed, ‘ ah, his poor wife ! ’ ‘I could not help it, 
his life was forfeited ! ’ * Terrible man,’ she sob- 

bed, ‘how long shall this shedding of blood continue?’ 
‘ It must continue while wrong remains un- 
punished,’ said he, solemnly, ‘ and I have the 
power of righting it.’ I thought it best to change the 
subject, inquiring after his wife and children ; and 
my wife, recovering herself, invited him to our 
sitting-room. He followed her shyly and with the 
utmost respect, nor could he be prevailed upon 
to take a seat, but, hat in hand, remained standing, 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 393 

listening deferentially to all I told him about our- 
selves and the things that had occurred since his 
leaving. In fact, he was just the old servant hap- 
pening to pay a visit to his former master, uncon- 
sciously falling back into the ways of service with 
the humble interest of grateful attachment. But no 
sooner was he told that the elder had returned with 
some money and a few heads of cattle, than he was 
the captain of his band again, self-confident and 
imperious. I endeavoured once more to have the 
people excused from making amends, hut he would 
not hear of it, turning upon me almost fiercely : ‘ It 
is right, sir, to accept it ! ’ and there seemed nothing 
else to he done. He took his leave with evident 
emotion, and burst away with his band, like a 
whirlwind, as he had come. I have written this in the 
early glimmer of morning, hardly myself as yet, but 
I longed to tell you ; nay, conscience urged me not 
to delay my report. I am ready to swear to this 
statement if required, remaining, meanwhile, 

“ Ever yours, 

“ Zborowskt.” 

The lawyer had read the letter aloud, but with a 
voice growing husky and tremulous, and having 
finished he sat down silent. Nor could any one else 
find speech, except the governor, who once again 
struck his fists on the table, exclaiming with a 
quaint petulance : — 

“ Perhaps you will tell me now, sirs, what I am 
to think of this ? I say it is maddening, it is dis- 
tracting, if even the law cannot decide whether a 
man is a wicked scoundrel or a noble-hearted, 
valorous defender of his kind. Now without this 
Taras, my good friend Zborowski were a corpse by 
this time, every manor in the district, hut for him, 


17 * 


394 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


were in ruins, and rebellion stalking the land ! It is 
so, indeed. I have little chance of upholding martial 
law though I proclaimed it, hut every word of his is 
regarded like an edict of the crown. But what do I 
say ? — why, without him we had never seen this con- 
fusion, and the wretch has men shot like sparrows ! 
Do you understand him? then do help me to see 
straight ! ” 

“ He is a remarkable outlaw, that much I per- 
ceive/’ said the general, drily. 

“ It does not seem so baffling after all,” broke in 
the burgomaster, “it is just this, methinks — an 
honest law-abiding man, as he was originally, has 
been worsted in a lawsuit — wronged, he thinks — and 
it has driven him to seek for himself the right 
which he fancies is denied him. He wants to 
destroy the man who has thus ill-used him, and he 
thinks he must punish the unjust judges ; that is, 
he seeks to kill Hajek, and to — to — I beg your 
pardon, but the unjust judges in his opinion are 
evidently the magistrates of this district. All his 
enemies, then, are enjoying the shelter of this town, 
and this is why I always urged making special pro- 
vision for its safety.” 

“ Supposing it is so, then why does he hold his 
‘ judgments ’ all over the country ? ” returned the 
general. 

“ By way of practice, I should say,” rejoined the 
burgomaster. “ So far he has not seen his way to 
attack us, because of the reinforcements, which I 
am thankful to say are sufficiently large now ; yet 
he must do something to keep together his band. 
Besides, such men require diversion ! ” 

“Diversion ! ” broke in the governor, wrathfully, 
flourishing the baron’s letter in the burgomaster’s 
face. “ Do you dare maintain that such a man 
kills his neighbours by way of a pastime ? ” 


THE AVENGER TO THE RESCUE. 395 

“ Gently — gently, sirs,” interrupted the general, 
amused at the governor’s fury ; and turning to 
Starkowski, he said : “ Now you have had some 
opportunity of knowing this man, doctor ; are you 
also of opinion that this town is in danger of an 
attack? ” 

“ Yes, certainly, so long as Hajek is within its 
gates. But Colomea is in exactly the same 
position to him as any manor, any place whatever 
sheltering an evil-doer. Taras’s doings do not pro- 
ceed from any personal sense of injury; in short, they 
are not dictated by revenge. There have been such 
instances in the history of the law, but his motive, 
so far as I know, is unprecedented. Hajek has not 
robbed him of anything, not wronged him in any 
way ; the very lawsuit, which he carried on with a 
pertinacity quite unexampled, was never any fight- 
ing for his right, hut for the right of others — in fact, 
for the right pure and simple, for the ‘ holiest thing 
on earth,’ as he once designated it to me. He failed 
in fighting for it with peaceful means, so he con- 
tinues his battle by force of arms. He does not hate 
the mandatar — or, rather, he hates him as he 
would hate any wrong-doer ; his fighting is a fight 
for the right — for the right, as such, against 
wrong. Therefore I say he would not now be 
satisfied if you delivered up the mandatar into 
his hands — you have heard what answer he made 
to the baroness ! And, therefore, what I should 
counsel is this : Protect this city by all means, but 
do what you can to withdraw the district from his 
power.” 

Captain Stanczuk fully concurred in this view, 
and a resolution was passed to commence active 
operations against Taras immediately. The town 
should be held, as hitherto, by its own garrison, while 
the rest of the troops, as flying columns, should 


396 


FOR THE RIGHT. 

scour the country, the hussars acting ‘as scouts 
between them. 

The mode of action settled, and everything 
arranged, the council was breaking up, when the 
governor requested a further hearing. “ Sirs,” he 
said, producing a writ, to which a large seal was 
appended, “ I am extremely sorry to have to detain 
you with this — one moment, I pray you. It 
is not for me to question any of the Provincial 
Governor’s orders — but — humph ! it is a pity some- 
times However, I can but make it known to 

you that, by this writ, I am instructed, firstly, to 
place a price, of five hundred florins upon Taras’s 
head. Now, leaving all other considerations 
out of the question, I should say this measure is 
utterly useless, and will only enrage the peasantry. 
And I am instructed, secondly — but no ! . . .” 

Herr von Bauer was heaving with passion, and his 
face was purple. 

“ Well, secondly? ” inquired the general. 

“ I think, perhaps, on the whole, I had better keep 
this point tn myself — for the present, at least, till 
I hear what the Provincial Governor may think of my 
urgent appeal to reconsider the matter. And I’ll 
just see/’ he added, with rising anger, “ if there is 

any coward to be found, any mean ” The rest 

was lost in his own furious growl. However, he 
recovered sufficiently to say, “ I wish you good 
evening, gentlemen ! I have the honour to wish you a 
very good evening. As for me, if I had never known 
it before. I know it now, that it is desperately pleasant 
work in one’s old age to reach the dignity of a 
district governor in Galicia. . . 


CHAPTER XVII. 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 

A BOUT the very time when the authorities at 
Colomea were holding their war council, a 
remarkable occurrence took place at Zulawce. It 
was Ascension Day, and a general meeting had 
been called. 

The men of Zulawce were in a difficulty of their 
own ; for, while all the rest of the parishes within 
the disturbed district were at least free to side 
either with the Government or with the avenger, 
as seemed best to suit their temper or their inte- 
rests, the people of Zulawce could do neither. 
They considered they had done with Taras ; for had 
he not insulted them beyond forgiveness by refusing 
to rid them of the soldiers? But no less impla- 
cable was their resentment against the authorities 
who had inflicted the soldiers upon them ; and even 
after the company had withdrawn its hateful pre- 
sence, they continued in a high state of ill-humour 
and uncertainty of mind, which rendered them 
unfit for any united action. It was this very want 
of decision, however, which proved helpful to 
Father Leo in his strenuous efforts to prevent any 
deed of violence ; for though there were few among 
them that would not have loved to see the manor 
plundered or set on fire, now that it was left at 
their mercy, none quite dared to assume the 


398 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


responsibility of taking the lead in such an act. Still, 
this, or any similar outrage, might any day be looked 
for; and since the helpless Jewgeni did nothing 
for the maintenance of order, Father Leo, assisted 
by some of the more steady- going of his parishioners, 
succeeded in bringing together a sort of committee, 
which was to take in hand the settlement of affairs in 
the distracted village. The six men, however, upon 
whom this office devolved did not at first seem more 
likely to arrive at a united opinion with whom to 
cast in their sympathy than the parish at large had 
been ; but they managed by degrees to sink differ- 
ences in a sort of compromise of a peculiar kind, 
and quite unprecedented even in the history of that 
remarkable people. The resolution arrived at ran 
as follows : — 

“ This is to give notice that since Taras has left 
us in the lurch, and the men of the law have 
wronged us, we repudiate them both now and 
evermore ! It is their fault if we men of Zulawce, 
in this time of trouble, have come to the conclusion 
that we had better in future be our own adminis- 
trators, recognising no one in authority over us, 
save the judge of our own choosing. We intend 
henceforth to pay neither tax nor tribute to any 
outsider, and we shall render forced labour to no 
man ; but we will live justly and peaceably, 
wronging none either in life or property. We 
insist on taking back the field which belongs to us ; 
but we will guard the manor as carefully as though 
it were left to the parish in trust by one of ourselves 
absent for a time.” So then the committee of affairs 
at Zulawce, after this fashion, and quite ignorant of 
its classical prototypes, had arrived at the idea of the 
republic, proposing Simeon Pomenko as the fittest 
man to preside as “ free judge ” over the parish 
interests. 


SIGNS OF FAILUKE. 


399 


The announcement was received enthusiastically, 
and on the day in question all the community once 
more had gathered beneath the linden, where 
the new order of things was to be promulgated. 
The place was as crowded as on the Palm Sunday 
when Taras had made his memorable speech. Two 
only were absent — Father Leo, who of course could 
not officially acknowledge this change of govern- 
ment, although he would not deny that for the 
present it seemed the likeliest arrangement for 
arriving at anything like order in the parish ; and 
she whom he had termed the most unhappy widow 
of the place, poor Anusia, who since that service 
on Easter Sunday had left the house only when her 
presence was absolutely necessary about the farm. 
She continued an object of interest, and was talked 
about daily ; but, with natural tact, the villagers fore- 
bore troubling her with calls, and passed her in 
silence when they met on the rare occasions of her 
being about the fields ; for even the roughest of 
them felt that her sorrow, and the silent dignity 
with which she bore it, commanded their reverence. 
And it redounds not a little to the honour of that 
wild community, that even on the day when their 
fury ran highest, when Wassilj and Hritzko had 
returned with Taras’s answer, none had thought of 
casting it up to the widow, or of offering her any 
insult whatever. 

The bearing of the assembly was grave and even 
solemn. “Men and brothers,” said Simeon, “it 
would be a disgrace if we could not rule ourselves and 
re-establish order in this village of ours ! The 
country is full of uproar and sedition ; let peace 
and honest labour have their place here — so be it ) ” 
On account of the intended independence of the 
community, and because of the pressure of the 
times, there would naturally be an increase of parish 


400 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


business ; and it was resolved therefore that three 
elders henceforth would be required, and they were 
nominated. Alexa Sembrow was to act as “ home 
minister,” — the common field and the fair distribu- 
tion of its produce should be his especial care ; 
while Wassilj, the butcher, should see to the external 
safety of the place ; Wilko Sembratowicz, the third 
of the number, serving as treasurer. 

This arranged, the assembly fell into a procession, 
and with bared heads proceeded to the field of 
strife, amid the ringing of bells and the solemn 
strains of the Te Deum. The “free judge ” and his 
elders led the march, and with their own hands, 
while the singing continued, they pulled the 
black cross from its present place, replanting it 
where it had stood formerly, at three feet distance 
from the river. This done, the four white-haired 
men fell on their knees, and, spreading forth their 
arms, thrice kissed the recovered soil, all the people 
doing likewise, amid sobs and tears. 

After which Simeon stepped forth, saying: “I 
require every one here to witness, as I also ask Him 
above, that we have only taken back that which 
belongs to us by right, and which was taken from 
us by a wicked fraud. ... We pray Thee, Thou 
Euler above, to prevent such fraud in the future, 
and we will fight to the death rather than permit it 
again. This is our solemn oath ! ” 

“ Our solemn oath ! ” repeated the men in chorus, 
lifting their right hands. And with faces beam- 
ing with satisfaction the people returned to the 
the village. 

Nor was their confidence at all lowered for 
some little time. The word of the free judge seemed 
being fulfilled, peace and diligence continuing here, 
while bloodshed and misery spread over the land. 
Neither was the village interfered with for changing 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


401 


its constitution, the authorities and the troops 
having more than enough on their hands already. 
No illusion had prevailed at that war council at 
Colomea concerning the difficulty of dealing with 
the bandits ; but the utter failure of all operations 
hitherto exceeded even the worst anticipations. In 
fact, the chance had never yet offered for having 
even a brush with the enemy; and although the 
flying columns continued to scour the land, never 
a hajdamak did they set eyes upon. They some- 
how always arrived just too late, or they sought for 
them on the banks of the Dniester while they did 
their work by the Pruth ; or strove to protect the 
east of the province, where the avenger had just 
been heard of, while Taras quietly, but surely, 
carried out his judgments in the west. It seemed 
altogether useless that the number of soldiers out 
against him was doubled, and even trebled, by the 
arrival of further troops ; and nothing seemed to 
come of spending large sums of money upon private 
spies, when the mandatars and others grew shy of 
giving their information, lest they should suffer for 
it sooner or later. Taras, with all the machinery 
of Government against him, continued his awful 
work, utterly undisturbed, all through May and 
June ; nor did the presence of soldiers throughout 
the troubled districts hinder him in the least from 
extending his raids far and wide, and making his 
power felt in every direction. And, in spite of the 
almost appalling penetration he showed in singling 
out his victims, never mistaking the innocent for the 
guilty — in spite of his repeated injunctions to 
the peasantry to forbear from acts of violence 
themselves, and to render every just tribute con- 
scientiously — the terror at the jurisdiction he had 
established, as it were, in the face of the law, 
and which one would scarcely have conceived 


m 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


possible -within the boundaries of a powerful, well- 
ordered State, grew and spread till nothing short of a 
panic filled the length and breadth of the land. The 
authorities had to listen to the wildest reproaches of 
the excited people, although they strained every nerve 
in the execution of their duty. But with all their 
honest efforts they could not even suggest an ex- 
planation of the means by which this strange 
bandit was holding his ground against them. \Vith 
their erroneous notions concerning his numbers, 
their absolute ignorance of his hiding-places — of 
which the bog-island near Nazurna was the most 
important — and not in the least aware to what 
extent the peasantry aided and abetted him as his 
willing informers, the speed and temerity of his 
movements could not but be a mystery. He seemed 
everywhere and nowhere, and did his work with 
impunity. By the middle of July four thousand 
soldiers were out against him, and yet it appeared 
hopeless to look for an ending of this reign of 
terror. 

Now the men of Zulawce watched this state of 
affairs rather with satisfaction than otherwise. For 
the more useless military intervention appeared, the 
greater was their confidence in being able to maintain 
their self-constituted liberty unmolested. But all of 
a sudden the day dawned that should teach them it 
was not so easy to break away from the leading- 
strings of sovereignty. 

It was a dull, grey morning in July; rain was 
pouring in endless streams. The sodden roads were 
deserted, and so were the fields. The two fellows 
whom Wassilj, the butcher, had placed by the toll- 
booth near the river, did stay at their post, it is true, for 
the place was dry and comfortable enough, but instead 
of keeping a careful look-out, they had retired to their 
pallets and were snoring blissfully. These somno- 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


403 


lent youths started suddenly, rubbing their eyes, for 
heavy footfalls on the wooden bridge had broken on 
their slumbers ; they stared, wondering if they could 
be dreaming ; but no, it was flat reality — they even 
recognised the face of the officer who was leading 
hither his men, Captain Stanczuk. They rushed 
from the booth, fired off their muskets by way of 
giving the alarm, and, racing towards the village, 
they kept shouting at the top of their voices. The 
soldiers had to slacken their pace on account of 
the fearful state of the roads, so that the youths 
reached the village a good while before them. 

And when Captain Stanczuk brought up his men 
in sight of the inn, he found the road barricaded by 
some overturned waggons, while bundles of faggots 
were being heaped up hastily, and some fifty men 
stood with muskets levelled, ready to defend the 
place. Now Stanczuk had special orders to avoid 
bloodshed, if possible ; but his . kindly prudence 
hardly required such instruction. He stopped the 
advance of his men within a hundred yards of the 
villagers, and, riding on by himself fearlessly, re- 
quested to parley with the judge. 

“ My father is not here yet,” replied Hritzko. 
“ But there will be no parleying, save by means of 
bullets.” 

. “ Well,” replied the captain, quietly, “if you set 
so little store by your lives, I cannot help it. But 
not being such a foolhardy idiot myself, I think 
I will just wait for your father’s pleasure.” And 
turning his horse, he rode back to his men. 

He had to wait a considerable while, but not in 
vain. The number of nen holding the barricade had, 
indeed, increased till almost every man of the 
village was present, and nearly all were in a 
belligerent mood; but behind them their wives 
were lamenting, preparing the way for the pope’s 


404 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


and the judge’s influence. It would be no 
more than good sense, these urged, to hear first 
what the officer might have to say ; and after some 
altercation it was agreed that Simeon, with his son 
and the three elders, should accompany Father Leo 
to the soldiers. 

The captain rode forth to meet them. “ Good 
day to your reverence, and good day to you all ! ” he 
said, smiling pleasantly. “ I have been waiting pati- 
ently for an explanation of this nonsense ! Don’t you 
think you are rather foolish, considering the times ? ” 

The half-bantering tone of his address somewhat 
disconcerted them, but after a pause the judge 
returned: “ Then what are you here for, captain? 
If you have any idea of calling us to order after your 
fashion, we’ll just defend ourselves. And as for the 
field we have taken back ” 

“ Your fields are no business of mine,” said the 
officer, as blandly as before, “ and you may continue 
King of Zulawce yet awhile, my good friend. My 
present orders concern no one but Anusia Barabola 
and her children. I have to arrest them, and take 
them to Colomea.” 

“ That shall never be ! ” cried Hritzko furiously, 
and even Father Leo flushed crimson with 
indignation. 

“ It would be nothing short of a dastardly wrong, 
captain ! ” he exclaimed. “ I pledge my life that 
the poor woman has no share whatever in her 
husband’s doings.” 

The honest officer winced. “ Your reverence is 
aware,” he said, lowering his voice, “that the 
soldier’s duty is to obey his orders, and not to 
question them.” 

“ And the poor children, are they to be held 
accountable for their father? ” 

“ I have to obey my instructions,” repeated 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


405 


Stanczuk ; “ and if your reverence will use your 
influence and prevent any interference with my 
duty, you will but act in accordance with the sacred 
office you bear.” 

The pope was silent ; but even if he had shared 
the officer’s views and fallen in with his suggestion 
as to his influence, he would have had little chance 
of exercising it. For the peasants had decided for 
themselves, old Simeon stepping forth, saying as he 
crossed himself : “ Sir captain, while there is a man 
alive here to defend her, you shall not lay hands on 
this unhappy woman and her children. We are 
fully aware that we endanger our own wives and 
children in opposing you, but we cannot help it. 
Why, we should deserve to be struck dead 
on the spot if we suffered such wickedness 
against the widow and her orphans. There, you 
may do your duty — we shall do ours ! ” 

He turned to go, but the captain touched his arm, 
almost pleadingly. “ Have you really considered,” 
he cried, “ what misery your refusal may bring on 
this village ? There is bloodshed enough in these 
days ; do not add to it, I pray you. Go and consult 
the people — I will wait.” 

But Simeon shook his head and turned away 
without another word, followed by the rest of them, 
Father Leo included. When they had reached the 
barricade and informed the people of the demand 
made upon them, there was but one voice of 
indignant refusal. Anusia’s servant, Halko, rushed 
off towards the farm, but all the rest of the men 
stood like a wall, crying : “ You have spoken well, 
judge, we will never permit it ! ” And the women 
ceased wailing, but Father Leo, with speechless 
agony, folded his hands, looking on. 

Hritzko took the command, and the peasants, 
besides holding several of the cottages near, 


406 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


stationed themselves all about the raised ground on 
which the church stood, where they found ample 
cover. They knelt with muskets levelled, prepared 
to fire. 

“ Let them approach within thirty paces,” cried 
Hritzko, “ and, at a sign from my whistle, receive 
them with a volley. Be ready ! ” 

The captain waited for twenty minutes, and then, 
sorely against his will, drew his sword, and head- 
ing his men, gave the word to advance. The drums 
beat, the men started at the double, with bayonets 
fixed. 

The peasants, in accordance with the orders 
received, allowed them to approach without firing. 
The soldiers had reached Wilko’s cottage, when 
Hritzko lifted the whistle to his mouth. But 
before he could give the sign, a hand was laid 
on his arm, pressing it down with a good deal 
of force. “ You shall not fire ! ” a loud voice was 
heard to say peremptorily ; “ I will not have it ! ” 
The young man started amazed. Before him, 
tall and commanding, stood the wife of Taras, with 
little Tereska on her arm ; an old woman-servant 
followed with the little hoys, sobbing piteously. The 
children, too, were crying. But Anusia, though 
pale, was calm as death ; she stood erect, and her 
face bore that expression of stony composure which, 
ever since that terrible Palm Sunday, appeared to 
have taken the place of her naturally passionate 
disposition. “I will not have a shot fired,” she 
said ; “ I shall go with the soldiers.” 

“ Anusia ! ” exclaimed Simeon, “will you deliver up 
yourself and your poor children to certain death? ” 
“ We are all in God’s hand,” she said. “ For my 
sake no wife shall be made a widow, no child father- 
less.” . . . And, turning to the servant, she added, 
“Come ! ” 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


407 


But Captain Stanczuk had understood the strange 
scene, and ordered his men to halt. The peasants, 
too, were standing motionless with surprise. 
Anusia deliberately went up to the officer. “ Here 
I am,” she said, “ and here are my children.” 

But the gallant soldier, on looking into the tear- 
less, grief* bound face of that poor peasant woman, 
was filled with a sensation of awe the like of 
which he had never known before. He felt as 
though he must bend the knee as to a queen or 
empress. “Come,” he said, reverently, “we 
brought a carriage for you.” 

She nodded, and forthwith would have moved 
towards the vehicle, which followed in the rear; 
but the villagers had recovered themselves, and 
were pressing round her. The officer nowise 
interfered, for he could see in their faces that 
they intended no further enmity. They surrounded 
her, deeply moved, some even sobbing when she 
lifted her children into the carriage as it drew up, 
and others kissed her garment, crying, “ Farewell, 
Anusia ! we shall never forget it ! ” Father Leo 
breaking out passionately, “ You are a brave woman ; 
no saint ever did a greater thing for her people — it 
shall not be forgotten, indeed. . . . And your farm 
shall be cared for, we shall be proud to do it ! ” 

“ Thank you,” she said, gently, and could no 
longer forbid her tears, the big drops running down 
her face : but soon the rigid calm returned. “ I 
am quite ready,” she said to the officer. 

The drums beat, and the procession started, down 
to the river and across the bridge, towards the 
distant town. 

At dusk the following day they arrived at Colo- 
mea, and that same evening Anusia was ushered 
into the presence of the governor. 

That honest, stout-hearted gentleman had 


408 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


looked forward to this hour as to the bitterest trial 
of his life, and had indeed resisted it as long as he 
could ; but his remonstrances with the governor of 
the province had been fruitless, though seconded by 
every magistrate of the district ; and even their 
united request to be dismissed rather than forced to 
obey in this matter availed not. The Lemberg 
authorities had returned word that no doubt the 
question of their dismissal might he considered in 
due time, but for the present they must keep to 
their posts, obeying their superiors. And thus the 
high-minded old governor had been obliged with 
his own hand to draw up the order for an arrest, 
which in his eyes was the worst act of violence yet 
committed; but having done this, he insisted on 
conducting the inquiry himself, lest the wrong he 
could not help should be carried out harshly. Mr. 
Wenceslas Hajek by this time had recovered his 
spirits sufficiently to quit his voluntary retreat in the 
city gaol for his own chambers, and the apartment he 
had occupied — not really a cell, but a private room 
of the chief warder’s — had been made ready for 
Anusia, the governor himself superintending the 
arrangements and giving various directions for her 
comfort. This done, he returned to his office, 
awaiting her coming with a beating heart. 

She entered, but be scarcely found courage to 
look up, busying himself with a sheet of paper to 
hide his emotion. 

“ Are you cognisant of your husband’s crimes, or 
aiding him in any way ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ I am forced, nevertheless, to keep you in custody ; 
but I will have you well treated. I shall daily inquire 
after your own and your children’s well-being.” 

He waved his hand, and Anusia was taken back 
to her place of confinement. The old man remained 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


400 


by himself, pacing his office for the best part of an 
hour, deeply agitated ; now gesticulating with his 
hands, now talking wildly. Having calmed down a 
little, he returned to his desk to make his report to 
the Provincial Governor, adorning it with all the 
flourishes approved of by the profession of the period ; 
but he took care that his dutiful letter should end 
with these words: “Never again may a representa- 
tive of the law within this realm of Austria feel 
himself thus lowered in the eyes of the accused 
brought to his bar, and may his excellency, the 
Governor-Provincial, not find cause to lament the 
consequences of this measure!” 

But even before his note of warning could reach 
the ears it was meant for, the thunderbolt of ven- 
geance had fallen — fearfully, terribly indeed ! On 
the second night after Anusia’s arrival at the city 
gaol the district governor was roused from sleep — a 
certain clerk, Joseph Dorn by name, had arrived 
with news that brooked no delay. 

The poor governor positively shook with appre- 
hension ; for that clerk had been ordered to accom- 
pany one of the stipendiary magistrates, who in the 
morning had set out to the village of Jablonow, where 
a certain matter had to be settled by local evidence. 
The gentleman’s name was Hohenau, he being a 
worthy German from the Rhine, advanced in years, 
and universally respected for his integrity. Now, 
although, after the attack upon Kapronski, Taras had 
not again laid hands on any officer of the law, the 
governor decided, nevertheless, that Hohenau, whom 
he loved as a friend, should not undertake the 
journey, short as it was, without a special escort of 
forty dragoons. He was expected to return late at 
night ; what if the clerk had come back without 
him ! . . . The governor tried to battle with 

this thought as with an apparition. “ Nonsense ! ” 


18 


410 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Jie said ; “ what should have happened ? ” and he 
stepped boldly into his ante-room. But one look 
into the man’s face showed him that his fears were 
only too well founded. That clerk, who had served 
half his life as a sergeant of the constabulary, till 
pensioned off to his present post, and who was not 
likely to grow faint at the sight of a shadow, was 
leaning against the wall, white as death, and 
trembling in every limb. 

“ He has been killed ? ” gasped the governor. 

“ He has ! ” groaned the clerk. 

Herr von Bauer, too, grew faint, catching at a 
chair-back for support. At that moment he expe- 
rienced that most painful of all bodily sensations, 
which, though common enough as a figure of speech, 
is rare in actual fact, and not likely to be forgotten 
by the luckless mortal that ever underwent it ! The 
poor old governor felt his scalp contract with an icy 
coldness, every single root of hair pricking into it 
like a red-hot needle — his hair standing on end ! 

For a while these two men continued facing each 
other, terror-struck and unable to speak, till the 
governor’s lady came rushing in to inquire into the 
reason of this late disturbance. Her coming was 
opportune, for the governor was obliged to rouse 
himself to bid her retire ; and turning to the clerk, 
he said, “ Tell me.” 

At which the latter drew himself up straight and 
saluted his superior. And then followed his tale : 
“ There was much to be done at Jablonow,” he 
said, “ and it was eight o’clock before we could set 
out on the journey back. Both in front and behind 
us the dragoons were trotting, quite carelessly, and 
Herr von Hohenau was even merry-hearted, con- 
versing pleasantly to pass the time. And he fell 
talking about Taras, saying — ‘ Do you know, Dorn, 
I should rather like to see him ; one would like to 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


411 


have a talk with the man — he is quite a colleague of 
ours, a criminal judge if ever there was one ; and I 
will even maintain he is possessed of all the true 
instincts of the profession, knowing how to dis- 
criminate between a rascal and an honest man — 
between right and wrong. I am sure of it ! ’ 
‘ Begging your pardon, sir,’ I replied, ‘ hut he is 
just a black-dyed villain, and God Almighty keep us 
from falling in with him.’ 1 Well,’ owned he, ‘ I 
don’t say I am anxious to meet him, say, on this 
journey, although I should not give him credit for 
any desire of harming us. You misjudge the fellow, 
Dorn ; I have carefully followed his so-called 
judgments, and I will say this for him, he is a man 
still and no fiend.’ The word was scarcely out of 
his mouth — we had just arrived by the little bridge 
leading over the Krasnik — when all of a sudden the 
reeds on both sides of the brook seemed alive with 
highwaymen. I am an old soldier, sir, and it is a 
dead mystery to me how it could happen so 
quickly, but in less than three minutes all our men 
were clean overpowered. I should think the bandits 
were at least five to one of ourselves, but I will say 
this for them, they did behave decently, and who- 
ever was willing to accept quarter, was merely dis- 
armed and pinioned ; they killed only those who 
stubbornly resisted. Herr von Hohenau remarked 
it also, and whispered to me : ‘ Never fear, Dorn, he 
won’t harm us.’ And for a while it seemed so. 
For the bandits who had surrounded the vehicle, 
levelling their pistols at our faces, now drew off, and 
one of their number — a Jew, by the face of him — 
said almost politely : ■ Please to get out, sirs, and 
speak to the avenger.’ We stepped to the ground, 
they closed in a circle, and Taras himself stood 
before us. Now I had often seen him — why, it is 
barely two years since — when he used to call here on 


412 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


account of that law-suit of his, a fair-haired, strong- 
built, ruddy man, with a glow of health about him ; 
but I certainly should not have known him again, 
hollow-cheeked, worn, and grey as he is now, with 
deep furrows about his face, and almost trembling 
as he looked at us. He kept silent rather long, I 
thought, and there seemed more pity than wrath in 
his eyes, and he spoke gently when he began, turn- 
ing to me first. ‘ It is not you I require, you are 
but a clerk of theirs, and are bound to write what- 
ever they tell you. You had better go your 
way at once — that is, if this man here has not 
some last message he would like to entrust to you.’ 
I shook from head to foot at this announcement, and 
the gentleman, too, grew white, catching hold of my 
arm as if to steady himself ; yet he was able to say 
— ‘I am Carl von Hohenau, a magistrate; every 
man in this neighbourhood knows me, and 
can tell you that no crime lies at my door. What 
is it you accuse me of, Taras?’ ‘Unheard-of 
violence and cowardly wrong,’ he said. ‘ My wife 
and my children are detained in your gaol.’ At 
which Herr von Hohenau drew himself up, saying 
solemnly : * Taras, you will believe my word of 
honour, that they have not been arrested at our 
instigation, but against our every protest. The 
governor has been forced to yield to the authorities 
at Lemberg, our superiors.’ At which Taras scanned 
his face attentively, saying, after a pause : * I am un- 
willing to believe you are speaking falsely ; but I 
have had information on solemn oath. Was it not 
by your orders that Kapronski, on the Wednesday 
after Easter, threatened my wife with arrest ? ’ ‘No 
— certainly not ! Did he ? Oh — the rascal ! Why, 
he came back assuring us that only by means of his 
taking it upon himself thus to threaten you had you 
been prevailed upon to spare his life.’ ‘He lied,’ 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


413 


said Taras. * I charged him to tell you that I should 
consider your lives forfeited if you countenanced 
such wrong — did he tell you that ? ’ * No, on the 

contrary, he advised it as the only expedient ; and 
the Provincial Governor, in issuing his orders 
to us, has acted on his suggestions without a 
doubt.’ The poor gentleman was not a little 
excited, but had sufficient power over himself to 
state plainly that repeated efforts were made by 
the magistrates of this district to reason with 
the authorities at Lemberg, and that they 
obeyed orders in the end under protest only, because 
there was no help for it. Taras listened quietly, 
and then, bending his head, he stood motionless, like 
one lost in thought, a shudder ever and anon quiver- 
ing through his limbs. . . . And I believed there 
was ground for hope ; but, alas, I was mistaken. 
Pulling himself up suddenly, he said : ‘ I will accept 
your account, every word as you have told it. But 
how is it that you yielded in the end, knowing that 
which was demanded of you was an act of violence ? ’ 
‘ We were driven to it.’ ‘ I do not understand that,’ 
said Taras, slowly ; 4 a soldier has no will of his 
own, and must obey his superiors, or he will be 
shot ; but I never heard it is so with the Emperor’s 
magistrates ! ’ ‘ It is not ; and yet we should have been 
punished — ignominiously dismissed in all probability, 
which is no light thing for a man to face. Some of us 
have wives and children.’ ‘ So it is just this : you 
preferred your position, and perhaps daily bread for 
yourselves and your families, to the integrity of your 
conscience ! And you are judges, who have sworn 
an oath before the Almighty, to further the right ! ’ 
The terrible man said this in the same quiet tone 
and very slowly, but his passion now broke forth : 

* No,’ he cried, * judges who are capable of that, who 
have yielded to the wrong, have forfeited their lives ! 


414 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Prepare yourself for death. ... I cannot spare 
you ! ’ But I fell on my knees. ‘ Taras ! * I cried, 
‘for mercy’s sake, forbear killing this man ! * Herr 
von Hohenau, however, ordered me to rise, pre- 
serving his composure like a hero to the end. ‘ I 
have nearly reached my three score and ten,’ he 
said, ‘ and have striven after righteousness all my 
days, to the best of my knowledge. I am ready to 
give up my account to Him who is Judge over 
all, and my days at best are numbered. And 
I leave neither wife nor child behind me. It 
is, therefore, not the fear of death, man, which 
prompts me to say that you must not kill me, unless 
you would burden your conscience with a deed of 
common murder, in the blind fury of revenge. So 
far as your deeds are known to me, this would be 
the first act of yours that must be called criminal 
and nothing else.’ The bandits growled, but Taras, 
beckoning them to be quiet, stood motionless, with 
bowed head, and lost in thought, as before. Those 
were terrible moments, I cannot tell how long it 
lasted, but it seemed an eternity. At last one of 
Taras’s men — that Jew — went up to him, addressing 
him gently. I could not understand his words, but 
saw from the expression of his face that he was 
pleading for mercy. That it was so grew evident 
from Taras’s answer, who, lifting up his hand, said 
hoarsely, and trembling as though it went hard 
with him : ‘ God help me and him, and if I am 
judging wrongfully I may suffer for it on the 
gallows, but there is no help for it — he must die ! 
He and his fellow magistrates have set aside their 
sacred oath for the sake of earthly advantage, and 
in the fear of man ; theirs is the power to protect 
the holiest of causes, to see the Eight carried out, 
and they have misused the power entrusted to them. 
That is a fearful evil ; and where shall wrong end if 


SIGNS OP FAILURE. 


415 


it begins with them? Hitherto I have tried to 
believe that it was their mistake, or at worst their 
carelessness, at times, which rendered them liable to 
judge falsely ; and though combating the wrong I 
have so far not declared war against the men of the 
law themselves. But now I have proof that these 
judges, these guardians of the Bight, have actually 
been able, against their own better knowledge, to 
concur in a wrongful deed ! I can no longer, then, 
be satisfied with merely stopping the course of this 
or that muddy stream, as it were, but am bound to 
close up the spring-head itself. I grieve, indeed, 
that I must make the beginning with this old man, 
who I daresay is one of the best of them, but there 
is no help for it — may God be merciful to him and 
to me ! * Herr von Hohenau was going to speak yet 
again, but Taras cut him short, saying : ‘It is use- 
less, you must see I cannot help you ! ’ and when I 
clasped his feet, he freed himself, and fell back 
behind some of his men. But Herr von Hohenau 
stood erect, saying with a loud voice , ‘ Get up, 
Dorn, it is not meet for honest men to kneel to such 
a one ! Get me a piece of paper and a pencil ! ’ 
He wrote a few lines, commended himself to the 
Almighty, and — and ” 

The old clerk was shaken with sobs, his eyes were 
tearless, but the lips quivered, and his breast heaved 
convulsively. 

“ They — shot— him ? ” 

The man nodded, and, fumbling in his pocket with 
trembling hand, produced a scrap of paper. But 
the governor saw nothing ; he, too, was leaning 
against the wall now, unable to stand. His eyes 
were closed, but two large drops hung quivering at 
his lashes, and fell over the furrowed face. “ Peace, 
peace be with thee ! ” he murmured, “ thou best of 
friends ! ” 


416 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


There was a long silence, but the clerk at last 
ventured to break it : “ This bit of writing,” he said, 
falteringly. The governor took it and read : — 

“ Farewell, my Ferdinand, we have been friends 
this many a year ; do not grieve for me, but have 
a care for yourself and the others. Let Kapronski 
meet with his deserts if you can ! What money I 
leave behind me I want your eldest boy to have ; 
just take it, with my love. I do not die willingly, 
but with an easy mind. — Yours in death, 

“ Carl von Hohenau.” 

Herr von Bauer folded the letter, placing it in 
his note-book. “ Where is the body, Dorn ? ” he 
inquired, presently. 

“Lying by the bridge; and so are the shackled 
dragoons. The monster himself cried after me, 
‘ You had better send for them.’ He had ordered 
some of his men to take me within sight of the 
town, where they left me.” 

Before daybreak even, the brave old governor, 
together with the general and a sufficient body of 
men, had started for the scene of death. It was an 
unspeakably sad journey through the mellow 
summer night. About half-way they came upon 
the greater number of the dragoons. None of these 
had been hurt, they had only been overpowered and 
bound with ropes. One of them had succeeded in 
slipping his fetters, and had thus been enabled to 
set the others free. They confirmed the statement 
that the band appeared to have no other object than 
to compass the magistrate’s death, vanishing almost 
directly after he had fallen, pierced by their bullets. 

They reached the bridge in the grey of the 
morning, and found only a few wounded soldiers 
and the corpse. And the men, bending over it, 
were filled with a holy awe on belioldiug the ex- 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


417 


pression of a restful, even proud calm, that had 
settled on the dead man’s face ; never had the 
majesty of death spoken louder than here. And 
even the old general felt an unwonted pricking 
about his eyelids when the governor knelt by the 
dead body of his friend. He insisted on lifting it 
himself, barely allowing Dorn to lend him a helping 
hand. 

When the mournful procession had returned to 
the town, the district governor lost no time in 
calling at the prison, in order to see Anusia. But 
only a single question he asked of her — “ Did 
Kapronski offer you any threats ? ” — “ Yes,” she 
replied, unhesitatingly, repeating his words. 

The governor nodded, as though it were just the 
information he had expected; and not wasting 
another word he went his way to the district-board 
office. As he entered the building the secretary 
came rushing down to meet him — a messenger had 
just arrived from Lemberg with a writ from the 
Provincial Governor, and was to wait for an answer. 

“ Let him wait,” said the district governor, 
bitterly. “ I daresay they have come to see the 
propriety of our remonstrances and rescind their 
orders.” 

The contents of the writ, indeed, somewhat 
verified these surmises, stating that, having referred 
the matter to Vienna, instructions had been received 
to take no measures against the family of Taras ; 
to which the Provincial Governor nevertheless added, 
as his own opinion, that, had the arrest been effected 
already, he should not deem it advisable to counter- 
mand it, lest the dangerous bandit should draw 
strength from their yielding. But more than this, 
the Viennese Government requested that every 
authentic information concerning Taras, beginning 
with the records of his law-suit in behalf of the 


18 * 


418 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


community of Zulawce, should be forwarded without 
delay. And the attention of the Provincial authori- 
ties was directed to the advisability of endeavouring 
to reclaim the rebel by peaceful means, since both his 
character and his history, so far as known in Vienna, 
appeared to warrant this as the best solution of the 
difficulty. Not that his submission should be bar- 
gained "for under promise of absolute immunity, or 
any other inexpedient concession, but rather by 
rectifying certain unfortunate mistakes, which no 
doubt might be done without lowering the dignity 
of the law or that of its guardians. With regard 
to this, however, the opinion of the local authorities 
was invited. In the meantime, and until further 
notice, all action against Taras should be strictly 
on the defensive, certain contingencies excepted. 

This official communication was accompanied by a 
private note of the Provincial Governor’s, which said : 
“ I have certain information that His Imperial High- 
ness, the Archduke Ludwig, is at the bottom of 
these instructions. Send me your records at once, 
and it is to be hoped everything is in plain order. 
For you know that if the Archduke once inquires 
into a cause, he will have it thoroughly sifted. It is 
a positive riddle to me how this wretched cut-throat, 
Taras, should have come to rouse interest in such 
high quarters. Concerning the ‘peaceful means,’ how- 
ever, about which we are to give our opinion, I desire 
nowise to influence your own ideas, but it seems to 
me we should be handed down to posterity as fools 
if we recommended them. The commissioner, 
Kapronski, whom I have every reason to believe a 
thoroughly honest and trustworthy man, quite shares 
my view, deprecating the proposal in the strongest 
terms, and I should say he is not without experience 
of his own. He assures me, and I daresay he is right, 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


419 


that any leniency shown to Taras would rouse his 
insolent opposition to the fullest. I wish to suggest 
this view to you, but of course you should judge 
for yourself.” 

Having read this, the district governor at once 
issued notices for a meeting of the Board, submitting 
to the magistrates not only the official document, 
but the private communication as well. “ His ex- 
cellency, the Provincial Governor, and myself, are not 
in the habit of having secrets with each other,” he 
said, grimly. The Board, after a short debate, was 
unanimous in its opinion that peaceful means were 
not likely to avail in the present extremity, and the 
following despatch was drawn up : “We fully agree 
that Taras, terrible as his crimes are, cannot be 
designated as a bandit and cut-throat in the ordinary 
sense ; it might seem a natural hope, therefore, to 
lead him back to paths of rectitude by appealing to 
his sense of honour and justice. Nor do we fear 
that such an attempt would increase his temerity. 
But we feel bound to deprecate such a plan, not only 
because of its utter uselessness . as regards the man 
himself, but even more on account of the hurtful 
effect it would certainly produce on the people, 
who would see in it a confession of weakness. 
As for Taras himself, it is evident that he is acting 
under the pressure of a belief stronger than his will, 
imagining that the duty has devolved on him to 
exterminate every ‘ wrong ’ he obtains cognisance of, 
to punish every deed of injustice, nay, the very omis- 
sion of doing right. And this idea has so eaten 
itself into his heart, that no concession to any 
lawful, or for the matter of that even to unlawful 
demands, or any other ‘ peaceful means ’ will dissuade 
him from it. He will continue his ‘judgments ’ till 
they are rendered impossible by force.” The Board, 
however, strongly recommended the setting at liberty 


420 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


of his innocent family; “ not for fear of his revenge, 
but as a matter of conscience, and in the fear of the 
Judge above.” And in conclusion, having reported 
the murder of their colleague, Hohenau, and Anusia’s 
declaration, they requested that the commissioner 
Kapronski should he sent back without delay, that 
he might be brought to the bar of his immediate 
superiors. With which reply, and a bulky bundle 
of papers, the messenger returned to Lemberg. 

Upon this the Provincial Government wrapped 
itself in silence save on one point ; they had 
been loth, these authorities stated, to set full 
value on the commissioner’s complaints concerning 
the ill-will of his colleagues, much as they trusted 
his veracity on all other heads. But now the 
Board of Colomea had given tangible proof of 
its unworthy animosity, actually suggesting pro- 
ceedings against a respectable servant of the law 
upon no evidence whatever, save the declaration of 
a bandit and his imprisoned wife. This appeared 
unjustifiable spite, and the Provincial Government 
not only must refuse to give up the innocent com- 
missioner, but felt obliged to censure the magistracy 
sharply. In answer to which the whole Board of 
Colomea once more, and in stronger terms, sub- 
mitted their request for dismissal, but neither on 
this matter nor concerning Taras did anything 
further reach them. There was a dead silence for 
several weeks. 

Thus the district governor’s position had come to 
be no bed of roses, when suddenly it seemed as 
though having reached the worst, matters would 
mend. It had been observed that Taras’s 
‘judgments’ grew fewer, and during the first 
fortnight in August not a single act of his was 
heard of at Colomea. It was as though the 
‘ avenger ’ and his band had suddenly disappeared 


SIGNS OF FAILURE. 


421 


from the earth. This silence was as mysterious as 
his terrible doings had been. It could not be any 
fear of punishment which bound his hands ; for if 
the General now kept his forces together in stockades 
between Kossowince and Zulawce, this centre of 
defence, however formidable, could not prevent the 
bandits from carrying on their work wherever they 
pleased, any more than the flying columns had been 
able to stop it. And since no other explanation 
offered, the Board lent a willing ear to the report 
which arose, dimly at first, though it soon gained 
ground, that by far the larger number of the hajda- 
maks had fallen out with their leader, and that it 
was inward dissension which had stopped the 
activity of the band. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 

T HE valley of the “black Czeremosz” ! . . . 

When the great Emperor Joseph, a hundred 
years ago, put forth his hand to lay hold of 
the lonely tracts overlooked by the Carpathians, 
he sent thither a brave old colonel, George Wetzler 
by name, a man reared on the sunny banks of the 
Neckar, to take possession of the district in the 
monarch’s name, and to make suggestions for the 
improvement of the newly-acquired territory. No 
easy matter ! but the old colonel was a Swabian 
born — stout of heart and tenacious of purpose — and, 
moreover* he was honest. So his efforts prospered, 
and some of the good institutions of his planting are 
growing still. Never at a loss to make the best of 
things, he was the very man for his work ; hut after 
inspecting this valley the old colonel’s patience 
appears to have been fairly exhausted, as may be 
gathered from his report to Vienna — a witness of 
his disappointment to this day. “ This valley of 
the black ‘ Tshermosh ’,” he bluntly declared, “ must 
he Old Nick’s own presence chamber, and what 
human creatures are to be found here, are a pack of 
senseless knaves. There is nothing to be got out of 
them, nor into them, and this wretched valley will 
always belong to him of the cloven foot, and never 
to the Emperor’s Majesty.” 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


423 


In one point this judgment proved true, for the 
people of Zabie and Reza to this day own the 
supremacy of the State only in a loose and distant 
sort of way ; but in other respects the plain-spoken 
colonel’s picture certainly is overdrawn. It cannot 
be said that the inhabitants of the valley in 
question are either more senseless or more knavish 
than the rest of the Huzuls, though they may be 
even more shy of the world, more rude of habit — 
creatures of the forest, both hardy and daring, as 
men will becomer whose life is a constant warfare 
with the sterner forces of nature. But “ Old 
Nick’s presence chamber” itself, in sooth, is one of 
the most glorious, if wildest regions of this 
mountain chain, “ raised by the devil and 
beautified by the Christ.” It would seem as if this 
valley, which forces its way eastward in a zigzag 
line between the towering peaks in the southern- 
most part of Galicia, had indeed been something 
like an apple of contention for evil or for good. 
But if it was the devil who made the frowning 
mountains and strewed the valley with weird- 
shaped rocks, the imagination may fitly dwell on 
the redeeming fancy that the gracious Christ has 
clothed the heights with those splendid fir woods, 
and called forth flowers and shrubs about the 
boulders, sweeter and fairer than one would look for 
at such a height ; and if it was the great adversary 
who made of the Czeremosz a roaring and dangerous 
torrent, it must have been the Friend of man who 
formed its banks, so rich and lovely, to hold in the 
turbulent stream. It fact the traveller, once 
acquainted with the fanciful legend, will remember 
it at every turn ; and the higher he climbs, up 
towards the giant-keeper of the Hungarian frontier, 
the towering Black Mountain (the Czernahora), the 
more it will appear to him as though a contest 


424 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


betw een opposing forces had verily taken place ; 
the upper valley certainly is one of the wildest and 
fairest spots on earth. It narrows perceptibly to 
the west, ending in a circular hollow, in the centre 
of which there is a small deep lake, whose waters 
appear black, partly on account of the dark-coloured 
strata of rock which form the sides of the basin, 
and partly because of its lying within the far- 
stretching shadow of that great frontier peak. At 
noon only is the silent mirror of the Black Water 
smiled upon by a passing sunbeam*. 

On the shore of this lake there is one of the 
largest settlements within the mountains— cottages, 
sheepfolds, barns in great number, and closed in- 
with a thorn-hedge ; it is the home of Clan Bosenko, 
numbering about three hundred souls, dwelling here 
and ruled over by no man save their own patriarch, 
feared for their valour and duly respected as the 
wealthiest tribe of the Carpathians. The patriarch 
of this settlement, in peace or war, is lord paramount 
within a territory as large as any English county, 
and wields an influence the strength of which rests 
in its tradition rather than upon any personal 
qualities. But never had the clan possessed greater 
power than when ruled overby the friend and ally of 
the avenger, the venerable Hilarion, surnamed the 
Just. There was not a man of Pokutia or the 
Bukowina who did not bow to him, and none so 
great nor yet so humble but he w r ould obey his 
warning and accept his will. 

In this man’s close proximity Taras had arrived 
early in August, 1839, encamping with his much- 
lessened band on an open space within theDembronia 
forest, about a mile from the Black Water. Not 
for fear of the military operations had he withdrawn 
from the plain and broken up his camp by the 
Crystal Springs ; still less had he done so of his free 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


425 


choice, but yielding to necessity, and hoping 
thereby to avert worse things. For the report 
which had reached Colomea was only too well 
founded. Taras no longer had absolute power 
over the minds of his men, whose dissatisfaction 
had grown to bitterness and resentment, breaking 
out into open rebellion at last. Just that had 
happened which Nashko, with the clear discernment 
of his race, had foreseen and foretold, the catastrophe 
occurring in the last days of July. 

“ There are too many of them,” Taras had said, 
sorrowfully, to the Jew. “ I cannot now, as I used 
to, impress every individual man with the sacredness 
of the cause he is serving.” But he was mistaken ; 
the band never numbered more than about two 
hundred, and Taras knew each and all personally ; 
the men, in their turn, being fully aware of his ideas 
concerning the work they were engaged in. Nor 
could explanation be sought in the suggestion that 
even his rigorous care could not suffice for keeping 
the band pure, and that some ill-disposed fellows, 
iio doubt, were leavening the rest. No ; the true 
reason was this, which Nashko and Jemilian failed 
not to point out to their beloved leader, saying, 
“ You could never hope for anything better, unless 
the Almighty had lent you his own avenging angels 
for the work. These men are but human, and un- 
willing to stake their lives day after day for no 
advantage they can see ; they look for some reward, 
some personal gain, for the constant danger they 
run. You think that the sacred cause of justice 
should be as dear to them as it is to you ; perhaps 
it should, but for a fact it is not. And if you expect 
of these men to understand your way of thinking, 
you should, in your turn, try to enter into their 
views, less elevated though they be.” 

But, in truth, neither party could comprehend 


426 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


the other ; and with a great number of the men the 
good-will even was wanting. Their wonderful 
success, and the fame attending it, had intoxicated 
them at first ; but the novelty wore off, and they 
began to resent their hetman’s folly which forbade 
plundering and expected them to do the work 
merely for the benefit of others. It was unheard-of 
severity, and most unjust, they considered. Among 
the Huzuls, too, a spirit of discontent was abroad. 
These wild, lawless men had joined the avenger 
because they hated the authorities, together with 
the Polish landlords and the thriving inhabitants 
of the plains, feeling attracted, moreover, by the 
prospect of plenty of fighting. It was not reward 
or booty they craved ; but, unused to obedience or 
self-restraint of any kind, they writhed under the 
consciousness of being mere instruments of another 
man’s will. They wished to have a voice in the 
matter before being ordered to this or that work, 
and did not see by what right they should be inter- 
fered with if at any time they preferred to please 
themselves after their own fashion. But there was 
yet another and an equally-numerous set of discon- 
tented ones, whose spokesman was the whilom 
choir leader, Sophron Hlinkowski — men of honest 
and respectable antecedents, who had gathered to 
Taras’s standard either for pure love of his cause, 
or had been driven to it by cruel oppression. 

But the scenes of bloodshed almost daily enacted, 
and in which they must take their part, filled them 
with horror and disgust. They trembled at the 
thought of what punishment they incurred at the 
hands, even, of earthly law, and they feared the judg- 
ment of God. Hitherto, though with a sore con- 
science, they had obeyed every behest of their 
leader, whom at first they so fondly adored ; but their 
helpless regret, ending in despair, looked upon Taras 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


427 


now in the light of a cut-throat who forced them on 
to every fresh deed of iniquity. That his own soul 
suffered and bled more than theirs they never sus- 
pected ; for the iron-willed man, worn and wan 
though he looked, never once quailed before his ter- 
rible purpose. They had come to look upon him as 
the destroyer, not only of their earthly, but even of 
their eternal hopes, and they were the first of his 
followers to unburden their minds. 

The band had been on a raid as far as the river 
Sereth, and was returning in forced rides under 
cover of the night, taking their rest during the day 
in their various hiding-places, and once more was 
encamped now by the Crystal Springs. 

But before the first day was out Taras reassem- 
bled his men, announcing that they must be ready 
to start at sundown for Ispas, and thence to the 
southern Bukowina, because several Boumanian 
communities had sent him their grievous com- 
plaints. 

The information was received with a growl of 
disapproval, and a voice was heard, “What, already, 
before we are half rested?” Another fol- 
lowing it up with a plain “We refuse ! ” While 
yet another added, “We sha’n’t move a step, unless 
we see what we shall gain by it ! ” But these cries 
were half smothered in the swelling surf of a 
general discontent. 

Taras’s friends pressed round him — those few 
in number who in life or death would be true to 
him — Nashko, the faithful Jemilian and his fellow- 
servant Sefko, the youths Wassilj and Lazarko, 
and several others. They had caught up their 
muskets in real alarm, prepared to stand by him to 
the end ; and to judge from the increasing uproar, 
violence indeed seemed imminent. The mutinous 
band pressed closer and closer to the captain. 


428 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


But he stood motionless, with eyes bent on the 
ground, and his face wore the expression of stern, 
unflinching resolve, which had grown habitual with 
him. “ Speak to them,” whispered Jemilian, 
hoarsely. “ Speak, or you are lost ! ” But he shook 
his head. Presently, however, he drew himself up, 
fixing a penetrating glance upon the foremost of 
the heaving crowd, and such was the power of his 
eye that they fell back cowed and confounded. 

He lifted his hand. “ Silence ! ” he cried, con- 
tinuing, with a voice not over loud, but wonderfully 
impressive, “ If you have aught to say, or to ask of 
me, here I am ! But I will not brook disorder ! 
Who is to be spokesman for the rest ? Let him step 
forth.” 

There was but a low murmuring now, like rum- 
bling thunder, ceasing gradually as the men fell to 
debating more quietly among themselves. The 
Huzuls gathered round the Boyal Eagle, urging him 
evidently to inform the hetman of their wishes. 
Others again, the worst of the lot, pressed round a 
herculean fellow of the name of Iwon Pistak, who 
had been in the service of one of the victims of 
Taras’s judgments, and had joined the band but 
recently. A third body in the background was seen 
clustering round Sophron, the former choir-leader ; 
and while the others kept muttering with wrathful 
or threatening faces, these latter seemed to cling 
together for mutual support, requiring no words in 
their trouble. 

An expression of disappointment, deep and bitter, 
passed over Taras’s features. He had refused to 
believe what Nashko and Jemilian had told him 
concerning the splitting up of the band into factions 
— he could see it now distinctly for himself. Alas ! 
how far matters must have gone already, how often 
the men must have consulted among themselves, 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


429 


and how fully their minds must have been made up, 
if at this moment of excitement the division could 
take place thus easily and naturally. 

“ Who is to be spokesman ? ” he repeated, 
expecting Iwon Pistak to step forth with an inso- 
lent demand. But he was mistaken — this man of 
might shrugged his shoulders, refusing the honour. 
Taras could hear him say with a loud whisper, 
“You see, he is sure to shoot down the first that 
dares tell him. Of course he will then be shot in 
his turn ; still I decline to be that first one!” 

Taras was on the point of yielding to his indigna- 
tion, when his attention was diverted from that miser- 
able wretch ; for suddenly there stood before him, pale 
and trembling, one of those from whom he scarcely 
would have expected the spirit of resistance — it was 
the late choir-leader, Sopliron. 

“ You may kill us, hetman,” he cried passionately, 
“ but we shall not again follow you : we will never 
again lift hand at your bidding. We cannot bear it 
any longer, to spill the blood of men who are unable 
to resist us. We fear the judgment of God ! ” 

Taras was not utterly unprepared for this terrible 
accusation, Jemilian, more than once, having re- 
ported to him remarks he had overheard among the 
men. Sophron’s words, at the same time, struck to 
his heart ; and he who had not quailed when all the 
band seemed ready to turn upon him now leant on 
his musket, for he trembled, and his voice quivered 
as he made answer, “ God is with those who love 
justice ! This is, and has been, my stand-by ; I 
require none other, and it ought to hold good for 
you.” 

“ Then how do you know that that which is just 
in your sight is just also in the sight of God?” 
cried Sophron . . . “ Tell me,” he continued 

excitedly, taking hold of the hetman’s hand., “speak, 


430 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


Taras, and prove it, that God has shown you His 
will better and plainer than to others. Prove it, 
and show us that you have a right to judge men in 
His name — that the power you claim is given you 
by Him above ! ” 

An ugly peal of laughter burst from Iwon and his 
party, but the Eoyal Eagle indignantly ordered 
them to hold their peace. Taras looked fixedly 
before him. 

“ Tell us ! ” Sophron repeated. 

** What I have to say, you have known from the 
beginning,” Taras made answer at length, but his 
voice was hollow. “ I claim no power beyond that 
which every honest man is called to in this unhappy 
land, where right is not otherwise to be found.” 

“ This is nonsense ! ” cried Sophron wildly, “ I 
have suffered greater wrong than you. I have lost 
all, my property, my wife, my child, I have myself 
been imprisoned, and with no earthly show of 
justice. Yes, I have been wronged, cruelly, and so 
have you — I will admit it — and many another, no 
doubt ! But for all that, can you prove that there 
is nothing left for honest men but to turn murderers 
themselves? What would become of mankind, I 
ask you — what of this country, if every man who 
has suffered innocently felt called upon to do as you 
have done? . . Taras, you have misled us — 

you are grievously mistaken. And as for us, our 
latter ruin is likely to be worse that our former ! 
Say, what answer shall we make to the Judge above, 
when He inquires of us, saying : * What hast thou 
done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crietli 
unto Me from the ground ! ’ ” 

“Listen to him ! that- comes of having been a 
choir leader ! ” cried Iwon, with a sneer. But again 
the Huzul chief silenced him peremptorily. 

“ What is it you want ? ” said Taras, hoarsely. 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


431 


“ We want to leave you ! ” cried Sophron. “ Let 
us go — we cannot bear it any longer. . ^ . We 

will try to live honestly and peacefully again ; we 
will go away from this country which we have 
defiled with so much blood-shedding — far, far away. 
We will try to expiate the great wrong we have 
committed. And if our deep sorrow avails not, if 
the Almighty cannot again turn His face upon us, 
and we must fall into the hands of earthly judges, 
be it so, we have deserved it.” 

“ You are at liberty to go,” said Taras. 

And wild excitement filled the air. The men of 
Sophron’s party seemed beside themselves with the 
sudden prospect of quitting their present mode of 
life. “Would that we had spoken sooner!” they 
kept crying. 

“ Any one is at liberty,” repeated Taras ; “let all 
those whose conscience forbids them to continue 
with me, lift up their right hand.” Some forty men 
gave the required token ; and, as Taras could see at 
a glance, he was losing the most trustworthy of 
his followers — not counting his own few personal 
adherents. 

He heaved a sigh. “ Step aside to yonder fir-tree,” 
he said, “ I will settle with you presently ; you shall 
have your share of the common property. But I 
must arrange with these others first.” He drew 
himself up proudly, and his eyes shot fire. “Now 
for you, Iwon Pistak ! ” he cried. 

The giant hung back, but his fellows pushed him 
forward. “ Why should I bear the brunt of it,” he 
muttered ; but gathering courage, he continued : 
“ Well, you know our meaning, hetman, and I 
daresay you find it natural; for after all, why 
should we go and help those fellows in the 
Bukowina, utter strangers to us ? and don’t you 
think we owe something to ourselves ? Supposing 


432 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


now, we did your bidding, we might find the manor 
garrisoned and soldiers in the cottages, some of 
their bullets might hit, and we lose life or limb — 
that is looking at the worst side. But at best — well, 
we kill the landlord or his steward, men who never 
have done us any harm, we help these wretched 
Bukowinians to get their money back, and then we 
return on our steps poor as church mice, even as we 
went. Is that fair, we ask ? You call yourself an 
avenger, and we grant you are just, but in 
justice to ourselves you ought to allow us something 
for our pains, now, oughtn’t you ? Where would 
be the harm if you allowed us to go shares with the 
peasants in any money found, for after all it is our 
doing if they get any at all ! And moreover, Taras, 
we do think it is ridiculous to expect of us fighting- 
men to live like a parcel of monks ! We want to 
enjoy life, we ” 

“ That will do,” interrupted Taras, “ and what if 
I deny your requests? ” 

“ In that case, Taras,” declared the giant, with a 
foolish grin, “ you couldn’t be offended if we gave 
you the slip ; we might carry on a warfare against 
rich wrong-doers on our own account, mightn’t 
we?” 

“ That will do ! ” and Taras turned to the fellows 
of this man. “ Whoever of you is of his way of 
thinking, let him signify it by lifting up his right 
hand.” In a moment some fifty hands went up in 
the air. Taras would not have believed it possible, but 
he looked neither surprised nor mortified. “ Very 
well,” he said, “ take your place by this rock, you 
shall have your due.” 

He stepped up to Julko. “ And what about 
you? ” he said, “ do you also want to leave me ? ” 

“It is not for me alone to decide,” replied the 
Boyal Eagle, gloomily, “else we should have left 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


433 


weeks ago. It is neither your fault nor ours ! But 
the Huzuls have ever been free — we are not a sub- 
missive race. Of course we should always obey the 
hetman of our choosing, but I also must say that 
men who are willing to be hajdamaks do not expect 
to live like monks. We should, indeed, have given 
up long ago but for my father, who would not hear 
of it. This was his message when I sent him word 
of our desire : ‘ It is not I who commanded you to 
join Taras’s banner; but neither did I forbid it, for 
I lay down no law unless I see absolute need of it ; 
moreover, I consider Taras to be an honest man, 
who knows what he is about, and I approve of his 
warfare. If you think differently, the question is 
whether he has ever expected anything of you 
beyond that which you knew he would expect when 
you joined him. If this is the case you may break 
with him ; but if not, you must stay ! ’ This is 
my father’s opinion, Taras ! ” 

“ And what is yours ? Do you think, as he puts 
it, you ought to leave me ? ” 

“ No ; else we should not be here still. But I say 
this, that we did not much consider what might be 
your real meaning when we came to you, or perhaps 
we misunderstood you entirely. So what we pro- 
pose now is this : Take us back to the Black Water 
and we will submit the case to my father in person. 
He shall hear you and hear us, and we will leave 
him time to think it over ; if after that he still will 
have us continue as your followers, we shall do so, 
whatever our own feelings may be.” 

“ And if I do not agree to this proposal? ” 

“ Then we leave you this very day,” said the 
Eoyal Eagle, curtly. “ I will answer for it to my 
father.” 

“In that case,” said Taras, after a pause, “I must 
accept your proposal; you will see for yourself, 
19 


434 


FOE THE RIGHT. 


Julko, that I have no other choice. If 1 had begun 
this work for any advantage of my own, or merely 
to satisfy private revenge, 1 should have no need to 
appeal to you for your services any longer. For in 
that case I should turn the pistol against my own 
head at once, if I had not done so long ago ! . . . 
But I have undertaken to fight for a holy cause, and 
I must not, I dare not, give it up till all means 
have failed me. I could not continue the work 
with the handful of faithful followers I have 
left ; I must hope, therefore, that your father will 
be on my side. But at the present moment I 
have something else to ask of you, and you will 
do it, for it is a duty, Julko — the duty of an honest 
man ! ” 

The Royal Eagle bent closer. “ I guess your 
meaning,” he said, under his breath ; “ it concerns 
I won and his fellows. You want to pass sentence 
on them.” 

“ No, not that ; for, evil as their intentions are, 
they have as yet committed no crime to be atoned 
for with their lives. But I must not permit these 
men to Use their weapons, which have served a holy 
cause, for murder and robbery in the future. I will 
disarm them. Will you help me ? ” 

“ Of course we will ! ” 

Thereupon Taras went over to Sophron and his 
party, asking their assistance also, which was 
readily granted. 

But Iwon and his fellows little guessed what was 
in store for them. Standing or lying about, they 
talked noisily of the merry life they now hoped to 
lead, when suddenly to the right and to the left 
ranks were forming against them. They flew to 
arms, but it was too late ; they saw themselves 
surrounded, and a circle of muskets levelled at their 
heads. 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 435 

Taras fearlessly went np to them. “Lay down 
your arms,” he commanded. 

“ Not before I have made a last use of mine,” 
cried Iwon, enraged, and, snatching up his pistol, 
he discharged it at Taras. 

The bullet missed its mark, striking a tree close 
beside the captain ; but another bullet proved true 
to its aim. Lazarko, quick as lightning, had fired 
back at the assailant of his beloved master. The 
giant’s hand went up to his head, he staggered, and 
fell heavily to the ground. 

The sudden death of their ringleader so terrified 
the mutinous men that they obeyed helplessly, lay- 
ing down their arms and entreating Taras to forgive 
them this once, and they would do his bidding for 
ever. 

But he shook his head. “ I know you now,” he 
said, sternly, “ men of your sort are no fit 
champions of a holy cause. Go your ways, and 
seek a better occupation than you intended. Green 
Giorgi and the rest of the hajdamaks have dis- 
appeared, for they are afraid of me ; should you 
make common cause with them they might venture 
forth from their hiding-places and once more be the 
pest of the land. Take warning, then, for I shall 
hold you answerable. If any crimes are committed 
I shall know that you are the scoundrels whom I 
shall have to deal with next. And be very certain 
I shall 6nd you, if need be.” 

“ We will seek an honest livelihood, indeed we 
will ! ” they asserted, trembling. 

“So much the better,” he returned, coldly. “I 
charge you to do as you promise, lest I should have 
to make good my w’ord.” 

Thereupon Jemilian, by his orders, gave to every 
man who was ready to go food for three days 
and his fair share of the common purse, the dis~ 


436 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


armed number starting first, abashed and silent. 
And then the word was given for a general departure. 

“ Say a kind word to us before leaving,” said 
Sophron, with honest entreaty, and all the rest of 
that party pressed round the captain, begging him 
to forgive them. “We are sorry, but we must do 
it,” they pleaded. 

“ I know,” said Taras : “ I bear you no grudge ; 
but you also shall believe that it is laid upon me to 
act as I have done. Farewell, and God grant that 
we may not meet again ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Sophron, “ then you do bear us ill- 
will V ” 

“ No,” said Taras, and his voice was low with 
inward emotion ; “ indeed I wish you well, and that 
is why I said, God grant that we may not meet 
again on the road — that road which is marked out 
for me. Fare ye well ! ” 

He spurred his horse, and, followed by his own 
friends and the Huzuls, he led the way towards the 
Ked Hollow. The night fell, and the stars looked 
down upon the deserted camp by the Crystal Springs. 
Taras never returned to it. 

They reached the Black Water, after four days of 
desperate riding through the pathless forest wilds. 
Their coming was entirely unexpected ; but all the 
greater was the delight of the tribe at the return of 
the clansmen. Taras, too, was received with a 
hearty welcome. Those savage natures are not 
prone to show affection ; but having made friends, 
they are fast and true. They had received the 
unhappy man with real sympathy on his first 
seeking their alliance. His dauntless courage struck 
a kindred chord, not to mention an undercurrent of 
naive gratitude in their minds, as though they were 
indeed beholden to him for being such a thorn in 
the flesh of the powers they hated. And when the 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


43 ? 


aged Hilarion had clasped hands with Taras, in 
token of mutual friendship, the wild shouts of 
“ Urrahah ” that filled the air, if an expression of 
savage delight, promised faithful adherence as 
well. . . . 

This being the case, the returning champions 
were loth to disclose the real reason of their arrival, 
and with tacit consent deferred matters to the fol- 
lowing morning, when Julko and Taras together 
sought the presence of Hilarion, informing him 
of the state of affairs calmly and without 
bitterness. 

The aged man listened quietly, the proud head 
uplifted, and with thoughtful, unperturbed brow. 
At times only his hand, passing with a quick move- 
ment over the silvery expanse of his mighty beard, 
betrayed his deep interest in the recital. “ It is the 
old story,” he said at last, after a long pause of 
silence, when they had finished. “ I have watched 
the course of this world for eighty years, and it is 
ever the same. It is the wicked only who know 
how to traffic with the hearts of men, and to do 
so for their own advantage ; but the good man is 
unsuspecting, judging others by his own honest 
nature, and it is sure to bring him to grief. It is 
nothing new, Taras, and I am only surprised that 
you have no worse tale to tell ; for you are good and 
honest to the core, and trustful as a child, in spite 
of the rivers of blood you have set flowing ; and you 
are as a stranger on the face of this earth, despite 
the fearful experience of your life.” 

“I do not understand you, my father,” said 
Taras, with modest deference. 

“ Nor would it avail you if I tried to explain my 
meaning,” replied the old man, smiling sadly. 
“ You would never understand it, and still less 
could you alter your nature. ... As for your 


438 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


rupture, I cannot take sides with either of you ; for 
you are both in the right, each acting after his 
nature. This is not a case to be influenced by any 
man’s opinion.” 

“ Then you do think that our ways henceforth He 
apart?” said Julko ; “I and every one of our 
men thought so.” 

“ It would be the simplest solution, and perhaps 
the most prudent,” said Hilarion, slowly, “ but I do 
not say it would be the best and most noble. . . 
Let me tell you, Taras, when I first heard of the 
work you had set yourself to do, and of the way in 
which you did it, striving to carry out justice with- 
out fail or wrong, as far as mortal man is able, I 
said within myself, ‘ Thanks he to those up yonder, 
whatever their names may be — and if the popes are 
right in maintaining there is but One, well, then, 
thanks he to Him that I have lived to see this day ; 
for truly it is a shame what oppression the in- 
habitants of the plain have to suffer, what wrongs 
untold, and no champion, no avenger, has ever stood 
up for them. But now such a one is given them, 
in token, as it were, that they are men still, and not 
mere cattle born for the yoke.’ These were my 
thoughts, Taras, and I think so still. But I also 
knew that your work could not continue. Not that 
you had anything to fear from the Whitecoats, for a 
man who has the mountain-haunts of the WelykiLys 
to fall back upon, and as many helpers as there are 
sufferers in the land, need fear no soldiers. No, the 
only danger threatening you would come from your 
own people, for you judged others by yourself, 
taking for granted their willingness to share the 
burden to which you have bowed your own shoulders. 
It could not end well, and to tell the truth it was a 
relief to me to see you arrive yesterday, for the 
news would never have taken me by surprise that 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


439 


yon had fallen a victim to your mutinous band. Or 
if they dared not shoot you they might have 
delivered you up to the magistrates, gaining thereby 
their own safety and filthy reward besides. Yes, 
these were my fears ; and it was chiefly with the 
hope of protecting you that I insisted on our men 
remaining true to your banner ! ” 

“ It may be so,” said Taras, gloomily. “ A week 
ago I would have taken my oath in contradicting 
you, but now I have not a w r ord to say. But the 
question is, What is now to be done ? ” 

“What, indeed?” repeated the old man. “ I 
have thought about it a great deal, and especially 
this last night. I could not sleep for anxiety con- 
cerning you, for I love you as though you were a son 
of mine. . . If prudence alone could guide you, I 
should invite you to remain with us and live in 
peace henceforth as a shepherd and huntsman in 
the mountains. I doubt not but that your wife and 
children would be released on your word of honour, 
and you could live happily. But it is useless talking, 
for you will listen — you can listen — only to that 
inward voice which prompts you to continue this 
work ! So the question remains how to make it 
possible. If you raise your standard anywhere 
within these mountains your name and fame will 
attract numbers of men, there is no doubt about 
that ; and they will be neither better nor worse 
than those with whom you have lately parted. 
How, then, will you anticipate such danger as you 
have just escaped ? — do you think you might permit 
them some enjoyment of life and a share in the 
booty ? 

“ Never ! ” cried Taras, passionately. The aged 
Huzul nodded. “I knew it,” he said. “It would 
be wronging your inmost nature, and I could 
scarcely advise you to attempt it. For in that 


440 


tfOit THE RIGHT. 


case the devil, not you, would be ruling the 
band before a month were out. Nothing remains, 
therefore, hut to govern your men in the future as 
you did in the past. A band will gather round you, 
but what will be the end ? You must be prepared 
for worse things than these late experiences ; you 
may end any day as I have hinted. Or do you think 
I am mistaken ? ” 

“ No ! But there is no other way.’* 

“ There is,” rejoined the old man ; “ I have 
thought it over, and it seems to me the one plan to 
he adopted. You must not collect another band ; 
at the same time you must carry on your work, 
which I deem both sacred and necessary. Do it in 
this way : Encamp with your faithful adherents in 
our vicinity, and wait and see what complaints 
reach you here. If any wrong requires you to 
redress it, I shall order this son of mine and as many 
of our men as you may ask for, to place themselves 
at your disposal. From the moment of their going 
forth with you, and until they return, your word 
shall be their law, but at other times they shall be 
free to live within the mountains as they are wont. 
That will suit all parties : you will not be short of 
men when you require them for any work that may 
be before you ; the sufferers in the lowlands will not 
he crying in vain for their avenger, and my own 
people need not forego the pleasure of having a 
hand in punishing the Polish nobles., the Whitecoats, 
and all those that would lord it over us by means of 
the law, whom they hate cordially. This is what I 
offer to you : straightforward and honest alliance ; 
will you accept it ? ” 

“I am grateful to you,” said Taras, “ but it 
concerns a matter far dearer to me than life. I 
pray you, therefore, let me consider it, and hear my 
answer to-morrow.” 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


441 


Taras gathered his friends about him, and 
informed them of the proposal. Opinions differed. 

“ This will be no lasting alliance, dear master,” 
said Jemilian, anxiously. “ We know the Hnzuls ! 
We grant that they are honest and brave, and if for 
the rest of it they are dissolute rascals, that is no 
business of ours ; but we also know that they have 
a devilish temper of their own, and are ready to 
pick quarrels out of nothing.” 

“ Well, if we know that, they cannot take us 
unawares,” suggested Nashko. “ We shall have to 
treat them accordingly, and if the alliance does 
come to grief sooner or later, we shall be no worse 
off than we are now. It seems to me there is no 
reason why we should not accept the offer as 
matters now stand.” 

Taras himself inclined to this opinion, and the 
result was that on the following day the alliance 
between him and Hilarion was solemnly ratified in 
accordance with the ancient usage of the tribe, a 
usage found to this day among Mongolian races. 
They filled two goblets with mare’s milk, and each 
of the two about to pledge his friendship mixed a 
drop of his blood with the cup he was holding ; 
thereupon they exchanged the vessels, and turning 
their faces sunward, they rested their left hands 
upon their heads, while drinking each of the other’s 
life blood. 

About a week passed quietly. Taras repeatedly 
went to commune with Hilarion, and the old man 
in his turn visited him in his little camp in the 
Dembronia Forest. But their people had no 
intercourse with each other. No news arrived from 
the lowlands, and no prayer for redress. The 
peasants believed the band to have dispersed, and 
the avenger to be either dead or somehow silenced. 

But there was a poor mother far away in a village 
19 * 


442 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


of the Bukowina who refused to believe that the 
man was dead, or no longer to be found, of whom 
alone she could hope that he would be the saviour 
of. her unhappy child. Her neighbours laughed at 
her for setting out to seek him in the mountains ; 
but she went and found him after a five days’ 
anxious search. And the story she had to tell 
was so heartrending, that both Taras and Hilarion 
decided on the spot that her prayer must be 
granted, although the undertaking was fraught with 
more than usual danger, and even the bravest of 
the brave might well shrink back. 

The victim in this case was a Buthen maiden of 
rarest beauty, Tatiana Bodenko by name, who, in 
the district gaol of Czernowitz, was awaiting the 
Emperor’s decision concerning the sentence of 
death which had been passed on her, following 
upon the verdict found by the local jury in fulfil- 
ment of their duty. That fair-haired, gentle creature, 
with the eyes of a fawn, had indeed committed 
murder ; but it was one of those pitiful cases which 
the law must condemn, while the heart’s sympathy 
will plead for the culprit. 

Tatiana, who had only just reached her eighteenth 
year, was the eldest daughter of a poor gamekeeper, 
and had grown up amid all the hardships of poverty. 
The mother often was ailing, and the father absent 
on duty, so that at an early age the responsibility 
of rearing the younger children upon the humblest 
of means devolved on her. It was indeed a wonder 
that the flower of her beauty unfolded in spite of such 
nipping cares ; but she fought hunger bravely and 
kept out the cold. There is a saying among her 
people that if God sees reason to punish a mother 
He gives beauty to the daughter, and that lightning 
loves to descend on the tallest trees. Poor Tatiana 
also had to learn that a girl’s beauty may be her 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 443 

ruin. She was modest and sweet as a violet, hut 
she could not help being seen ; and all eyes that 
beheld her seemed spell-bound. But silent worship 
not being a virtue much known in those parts, 
she had much ado in keeping at a distance her rude 
admirers, and would often sigh at the thought that, 
with all her other burdens, she should have the 
special trouble of such beauty as well. But the 
day also was given her when she found that it 
was not altogether amiss to be lovely ; she had 
made the acquaintance of a young peasant at a 
neighbouring village, and came to be grateful for 
her sweet face, since thereby she had gained his 
love. The young man was honest and fairly well 
off, her parents gave their blessing gladly, and 
that saying need never have come true as far as 
Tatiana was concerned had not an evil hour 
brought Mr. Eugene de Kotinski, the owner of the 
forest, to her father’s cottage. 

He was not a fast man of the worst type, and his 
morals hitherto had escaped the world’s censure, 
but no sooner had he seen the girl than he was 
seized with a frenzied passion for her. Day 
after day he returned, like a moth to the candle, 
trying to win her with the most dazzling promises, 
and these failing, with cruel threats. Her prayers 
and tears availed not, and she withdrew into the 
silence of contempt. Suddenly his visits ceased ; 
he had left the neighbourhood, hoping to master 
his folly. But the promptings of his nature, perhaps 
of his heart even, were too strong for such honest 
intentions ; he returned to ask the keeper for the 
hand of his daughter. It was an unheard-of resolve 
for a man of his standing, making the gossips gape 
with wonder for miles around ; but still more 
startling was the further news that Tatiana had 
rejected her noble suitor. She did not care to be 


446 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


not the outcome of heroism, but simply that sub- 
missive yielding to the inevitable which is so 
strong a characteristic of Slavonic races ; but in a 
case like this, and surrounded with the halo of so 
tragic a fate, it reflects the lustre of the higher 
virtue. 

But while the girl thus awaited her fate calmly, 
Taras was coming to avert it. The hill country 
between the rivers Czeremosz, Pruth, and Sereth 
was almost bare of troops, and he knew the neigh- 
bourhood sufficiently ; nevertheless this enterprise 
was the most daring of his ventures. There was 
the General with his concentrated forces not far to 
the left of him, and he was moving towards a city of 
some ten thousand inhabitants — not to mention its 
garrison, the strength of which he had not been 
able to learn. True, he bad sent on Nashko and the 
Koyal Eagle to procure information and to recon- 
noitre the situation of the prison ; but these spies 
of his could scarcely rejoin him before he, at the 
head of his band, would have arrived in the vicinity 
of the town ; and the least suspicion of their 
approach would bring almost certain failure, for the 
General could effectively cut off their retreat. No 
precaution, therefore, was omitted to avert disco- 
very. They carried food for themselves and proven- 
der for their horses, in order to obviate intercourse 
with the peasantry. They rode by night only, and 
in small detachments, taking their rest and hiding 
in lonely places from the early dawn till late in the 
evening. They avoided villages — and solitary 
homesteads even — choosing the rocky woodland 
paths as much as possible, where the horses’ hoofs 
left no traces behind them. Still, a hundred horse- 
men could not traverse the country as quietly 
as mice ; and, apart from all this, everything 
depended on whether the attack could be carried 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 447 

out successfully within the space of an hour: if 
there were anything like a fight, the band was lost. 
Most of Taras’s feats hitherto had been ventures for 
life or death ; but the chances of utter failure never 
seemed more certain than this time. The Huzuls 
hardly realised it, or if they did, their great teme- 
rity despised the danger ; but all the deeper was 
Taras’s sense of responsibility. 

With the first streak of dawn on the fourth day 
they reached that uninhabited forest region, rent 
with numberless ravines, between the village of 
Dracinetz and the Swabian settlement of Eosch, 
which forms the western suburb of Czernowitz. In 
the midst of this wild waste rises broadly and 
grandly the Cecina mountain, the brow of which, in 
times gone by, bore the ramparts and bastions of a 
considerable stronghold. In one of the hollows on 
the western slope, between rocks and brushwood, 
the band was halting ; to this spot the spies had 
been ordered to return. They arrived in the course 
of the day, but their news was even less hopeful 
than Taras had anticipated. The prison itself was 
favourably situated in the outskirts of the city, but 
within a stooe’s throw of barracks containing some 
five hundred soldiers. 

But Taras nevertheless resolved to venture, and 
the attack was not only successful, but was achieved 
without the loss even of a single life. The enterprise, 
which bordered on the impossible, was carried vic- 
toriously through by a series of happy chances. 

A. storm had broken at sunset, the rain 
descending in torrents for hours through the 
night. Under cover of this tempest the band suc- 
ceeded in gaining the level between the gaol and the 
Catholic cemetery, without letting the sentry in the 
barracks close by, or any one else, become aware of 
their arrival. Taras dismounted with about half 


448 


FOB THE RIGHT. 


his men, cautiously advancing to the entrance of 
the prison. The sentinel, most fortunately, had re- 
tired from the pelting rain, and was comfortably 
asleep, well wrapped up in his overcoat. He was 
gagged and pinioned before he had half opened his 
drowsy eyes. 

And now Taras rang the bell, but there was no 
sound in response — the wind only howled and the 
rain splashed wildly. After the bell had been rung a 
second time, approaching footsteps were heard and 
keys rattled, a sleepy voice growling, “ What is it 
at this time of night?” “ Government inspection ! ” 
returned Taras, peremptorily. At which the gates 
flew open, revealing an old turnkey with a lantern 
in his hand. He staggered back horrified. 

“ Lead the way to Tatiana Bodenko,” said Taras, 
lifting his pistol. “ You are a dead man if you raise 
the alarm ; but you have nothing to fear if you show 
me to her cell. I am the avenger, and you may trust 
my word.” 

The man grew livid, but did as he was told, 
tremblingly unlocking the cell of the condemned 
maiden. Taras took hold of the lantern and entered, 
leaving the warder to his men. Tatiana was fast 
asleep, her rest being as peaceful as though she had 
sought it in her father’s cottage, the sweet earnings 
of toil. A gleam of light fell on her face, and a tall 
man, grey-haired and wan, was bending over her. 
She woke with a start, and gave a little scream, but 
he laid his hand on her mouth, saying, “ Rise ; I am 
the avenger. I have come to take you back to your 
mother ; it is she who has sent me. Be quick ! ” 

He turned away, and she rose as in a dream ; 
but her limbs shook and she was scarcely able to 
put on her clothes. Taras knew that not a moment 
was to be lost ; divesting himself of his “ bunda,” he 
wrapped it about her and lifting the quivering 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


m 

figure in his strong arms, he carried her away 
through the night and the rain, followed by his men, 
to where the others were waiting. He placed her upon 
a horse, tying her fast in the saddle and joining the 
bridle to that of his own steed. And the band 
dashed away quick as lightning through the storm- 
tossed night. 

But success was scarcely yet complete. Unless 
the authorities at Czernowitz had utterly lost their 
heads they would send a courier to inform the 
General of what had happened; and if the latter 
moved forward to the banks of the Czeremosz, quite 
at his leisure, he could cut off the band’s retreat to 
the mountains. Taras was fully aware of this and 
resolved to make a dash for it straight across 
country, taxing his men and horses to their utmost. 
And it was well he did so, for on the evening of the 
second day he fell in with the vanguard of the 
approaching troops, a handful of hussars. But 
these, not strong enough to venture upon an attack, 
turned tail after having exchanged some shots with 
the bandits. Only one of their bullets hit, wounding 
one of Taras’s truest helpers, and his own inmost 
heart as well; his oldest, most faithful companion, 
Jemilian, fell bleeding by his side. They lifted him 
up, taking him away with them back to the moun- 
tains. The old man’s iron nature fought for life, but 
Taras knew that the sore parting was at hand. . . . 

Words utterly fail to describe the excitement 
which filled the land when that night’s exploit became 
known. The consternation was all the greater 
because men had clung to the belief that Taras’s 
day was over and no further attack need be feared. 
It had been asserted he had laid hands on himself in 
despair ; others declaring his band had mutinied 
and that he had fled for his life to Hungary. But 
here he was, bold as ever, daring unheard-of things, 


448 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


his men, cautiously advancing to the entrance of 
the prison. The sentinel, most fortunately, had re- 
tired from the pelting rain, and was comfortably 
asleep, well wrapped up in his overcoat. He was 
gagged and pinioned before he had half opened his 
drowsy eyes. 

And now Taras rang the bell, but there was no 
sound in response — the wind only howled and the 
rain splashed wildly. After the bell had been rung a 
second time, approaching footsteps were heard and 
keys rattled, a sleepy voice growling, “ What is it 
at this time of night?” “ Government inspection ! ” 
returned Taras, peremptorily. At which the gates 
flew open, revealing an old turnkey with a lantern 
in his hand. He staggered back horrified. 

“ Lead the way to Tatiana Bodenko,” said Taras, 
lifting his pistol. “ You are a dead man if you raise 
the alarm ; but you have nothing to fear if you show 
me to her cell. I am the avenger, and you may trust 
my word.” 

The man grew livid, but did as he was told, 
tremblingly unlocking the cell of the condemned 
maiden. Taras took hold of the lantern and entered, 
leaving the warder to his men. Tatiana was fast 
asleep, her rest being as peaceful as though she had 
sought it in her father’s cottage, the sweet earnings 
of toil. A gleam of light fell on her face, and a tall 
man, grey-haired and wan, was bending over her. 
She woke with a start, and gave a little scream, but 
he laid his hand on her mouth, saying, “ Rise ; I am 
the avenger. I have come to take you back to your 
mother ; it is she who has sent me. Be quick ! ” 

He turned away, and she rose as in a dream ; 
but her limbs shook and she was scarcely able to 
put on her clothes. Taras knew that not a moment 
was to be lost ; divesting himself of his “ bunda,” he 
wrapped it about her and lifting the quivering 


THE APPROACHING DOOM. 


m 

figure in his strong arms, he carried her away 
through the night and the rain, followed by his men, 
to where the others were waiting. He placed her upon 
a horse, tying her fast in the saddle and joining the 
bridle to that of his own steed. And the band 
dashed away quick as lightning through the storm- 
tossed night. 

But success was scarcely yet complete. Unless 
the authorities at Czernowitz had utterly lost their 
heads they would send a courier to inform the 
General of what had happened; and if the latter 
moved forward to the banks of the Czeremosz, quite 
at his leisure, he could cut off the band’s retreat to 
the mountains. Taras was fully aware of this and 
resolved to make a dash for it straight across 
country, taxing his men and horses to their utmost. 
And it was well he did so, for on the evening of the 
second day he fell in with the vanguard of the 
approaching troops, a handful of hussars. But 
these, not strong enough to venture upon an attack, 
turned tail after having exchanged some shots with 
the bandits. Only one of their bullets hit, wounding 
one of Taras’s truest helpers, and his own inmost 
heart as well; his oldest, most faithful companion, 
Jemilian, fell bleeding by his side. They lifted him 
up, taking him away with them back to the moun- 
tains. The old man’s iron nature fought for life, but 
Taras knew that the sore parting was at hand. . . . 

Words utterly fail to describe the excitement 
which filled the land when that night’s exploit became 
known. The consternation was all the greater 
because men had clung to the belief that Taras’s 
day was over and no further attack need be feared. 
It had been asserted he had laid hands on himself in 
despair; others declaring his band had mutinied 
and that he had fled for his life to Hungary. But 
here he was, bold as ever, daring unheard-of things, 


450 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


and heading a swarm of outlaws which the terrified 
hussars who had fallen in with them estimated at 
five hundred at least. 

Helplessly the authorities met at the Board, 
couriers flying from Czernowitz to Colomea, and 
thence to Lemberg, and away to Vienna. The poor 
district governor, who Had begun to breathe more 
freely, hung his head again in utter dismay. 
“ Would to God,” he cried bitterly, “our superiors 
at Lemberg had turned their venom against this 
Taras, instead of spluttering it over us. But as for 

those at Vienna w he heaved a sigh and sat mute. 

The poor old man was so deeply troubled that 
even his favourite resort of growling began to fail 
him. 

But “ those at Vienna,” meanwhile, did not quite 
deserve his disgust. Before a week was over he 
could once more call the Board to inform them that 
a special writ had arrived from the Provincial 
Governor, and his eyes shone with a curious moisture. 
“ Gentlemen,” he said, “ after all it was not in vain 
that we stood up for what is fair and right. Our 
superiors at Lemberg have just informed me that by 
express orders from Vienna Anusia Barabola and 
her children are to be set at liberty at once, and that, 
considering the very special circumstances of the 
case, she is to be indemnified for any loss she may 
have suffered through having been detained here. 
This is fine, I say ! But, on the other hand,” he 
added, with a queer smile, “we seem to be told that, 
in part at least, our views are open to amendment. 
Listen to this,” and he read as follows: — “‘It 
appears to be thought highly desirable at Vienna 
that an effort should be made to bring Taras to his 
senses by personal remonstrance, it being left to 
the district authorities to name fit persons for this 
office. These, in company with the outlaw’s wife 


the approaching doom. 


451 


if possible, are to repair to Taras’s camp, and to 
inform him that the Imperial Government, having 
learned that he, formerly a well-behaved and even 
exemplary subject, had been driven to his desperate 
crimes by an alleged wrong done to his parish in 
the matter of a law-suit against the lord of the 
manor concerning a field of theirs — that Govern- 
ment, as in duty bound to rectify any miscarriage 
of justice, had ordered a careful revision of the 
judicial records referring to that suit ; and although 
there seemed nothing irregular in the judgment of 
the local court, yet nevertheless it appeared that 
certain pleas might be urged in Taras’s favour, for 
which reason it was deemed well to annul that 
judgment by an act of imperial prerogative, and to 
order the case to be tried over again ; that the district 
governor was instructed to repeat the process of 
collecting evidence, and especially to inquire into the 
possibility of perjury in the former trial — these 
matters to be taken in hand with all possible speed ; 
and Taras to be given to understand that the case 
was to be re-tried for the sake of justice itself, apd 
not with the mere idea of pacifying him. At the 
same time he shall be informed of this decision, in 
the hope that it may enable him to see his way all 
the more plainly to turn from his present evil 
life, and by an unconditional surrender to make 
amends to the law he has so grievously wronged. 
And though it would not be just to hold out positive 
impunity to him and his accomplices, he is to be 
assured that his and their lives shall in that case be 
spared. The district governor is herewith requested 
to take note of these instructions, and to act ac- 
cordingly.’” 

Herr von Bauer looked up from his paper, and, 
allowing the excitement of the Board to subside, he 
added presently, “ And now, gentlemen, who is to 


ifOK THE EIGHT. 


462 

be sent — to Taras, I mean ; for I shall myself repair 
to Znlawceto re-examine the witnesses.” 

“ If I might be allowed to suggest,” said Wrob- 
lewski, the secretary, looking wicked, “ surely we 
could find no better delegates than our friend 
Kapronski, who sooner or later will have to show 
his face here, and the amiable hero of all this busi- 
ness himself, Mr. Wenceslas Hajek, who, I am told, 
intends this very week to enter the blessed estate of 
matrimony.” 

“None of your chaff,” broke in the governor, “we 
are not gathered here for joking ; moreover, I want 
to be off to inform the poor woman of her liberty. 
I’ll see her myself ! So, to come to business, sup- 
pose we appoint Dr. Starkowski, who not only knows 
Taras, but always had a good word for him. And 
I should say he could not have a better companion 
than the parish-priest of Zulawce, Father Leo 
Woronczuk. Let these two go and come to an 
understanding with Taras.” 

The Board unanimously agreed to this proposal, 
and the governor was soon free to repair to the city 
gaol, his heart brimming with the good news for 
Anusia. 


CHAPTEB XIX. 


FOR THE RIGHT — IN THE WRONG. 

I T was a lovely morning, fair and still, witli the 
glow of autumn upon the mountains. More 
golden seemed the light and bluer the heavens than 
summer had known them. Though but early as yet 
in September, the high peaks of the Czernahora were 
white with the first sparkling snow ; hut the air was 
mellow in the valley, and there being no foliage 
which by its turning colour might have told of the 
waning year, but only firs and pines of sombre 
green, there was nothing to remind one of nature’s 
gentle decay, save the peculiar clearness of the 
atmosphere, and at times a whirring sound high 
overhead — the first flights of birds going South. A 
deep silence lay brooding over the wild splendour 
of the valley ; not a sign of life anywhere. The 
Czeremosz even, ever restless and rushing as 
described in song, had grown calm with the hot 
days of summer, and was flowing quite steadily 
along. 

A strange shrill call suddenly rent the air. Any 
one who had never heard it would naturally have 
looked up to see whether a hawk or falcon might be 
discerned in the shining blue ; but the sound was 
followed by others, falling on the ear more gently, 
now at intervals, now in succession, a monotonous 
mournful melody, rising and sinking, and ebbing 


454 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


away through the stilly landscape. And even the 
unaccustomed listener would have found out by 
this time that it was some shepherd’s pipe 
sending its voice through' the valley. But ere 
long, the sorrowful strain was broken into by 
that same shrill call, only it now came from 
a different direction, another pipe silencing the 
first one, as it were, and carrying on its dolorous 
song; which again in its turn was taken up by 
another, more distant, starting with that peculiar 
note, and continuing the strain. Thus the plaintive 
melody went sobbing along from pasture to pasture, 
and those that heard it crossed themselves, 
murmuring a prayer, and then hastened to their 
homestead to put on suitable attire, that they 
might assist in burying the dead. For such is the 
way within the mountains : if a man dies in 
any of the valleys the event is made known 
by a blast of the horn — the death-horn they call 
it — and its voice is hollow and dismal, as befits 
the first outburst of mourning ; and later on 
the subdued dirge of the shepherd’s pipe invites 
the neighbours to render the last kindly tribute 
to him who is gone. 

It was from the largest settlement that the call 
had come, and the far-off listeners had been seized 
with apprehension, lest the death-horn should 
announce the passing away of the patriarch of the 
valley, Hilarion the Just ; but by the time the pipes 
were heard it was known that it was for the burial 
of a stranger only, who in a sheltering homestead 
of Clan Bosenko had breathed his last. Old 
Jemilian was gone. 

For more than a week he had lain wrestling with 
death, fighting his last battle bravely, with manly 
courage and resignation. Hilarion, not merely the 
ruler and guide of his people, but their adviser in 


FOR THE RIGHT — IN THE WRONG. 455 

sickness as well, had vainly endeavoured to succour 
the sinking life with healing herbs, and to tend the 
wound with practised skill. In vain, too, had been 
the almost passionate care of the maiden Tatiana, 
who watched by the sick man day and night. The 
poor girl, feeling shy at first, and disconsolate among 
strangers, had been glad of the opportunity of 
showing her gratitude to the hetman by soothing 
the sick-bed of his servant and friend. 

Jemilian himself was almost impatient of so much 
solicitude. “I know that I am going to die,” he 
kept repeating; “and it is well. One duty only I 
have yet to perform, and the good God will give me 
the needful strength before I go.” 

What this one thing might be which yet bound 
him to life he was in no hurry to disclose, not even 
to Taras, whose devotion and loving care for the 
wounded man were only equalled by Tatiana’s. Once 
only, when the hetman had to leave him for a couple 
of days at the call of duty, the well-kept secret 
seemed about to be told. For Taras had learned 
that Green Giorgi, reinforced by several of his own 
late followers, had dared to resume his predatory 
life, and he at once resolved to bring those scoun- 
drels to justice, Jemilian himself urging him not to 
delay. And when the fearless band was mounted, 
and Taras once more returned to the sick-bed to take 
leave of his friend, the wounded man suddenly grew 
restless, looking doubtfully at the girl. Tatiana un- 
derstood, and left the two by themselves. “ Dear 
master,” said Jemilian ; “you may be absent for 
several days, and I may be gone when you return ; 
yet I must not die without telling you one thing ! ” 

“ I shall find you alive, and, please God, getting 
better,” said Taras, cheeringly. “ But if it is any 
comfort to you ” 

The old man shook his head. “No,” he said, 


456 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


falteringly ; “ I think I will wait till death tightens 
its hold ; for if, after all, I should recover by some 
miracle it were terrible . . . terrible ... to have 
told you! No! go your way, dear master, and 
God bless you. ... I will wait ! ” 

And as Taras rode along at the head of his fol- 
lowers he kept thinking of these strange words; 
but explanation there seemed none, and his atten- 
tion presently was otherwise engaged. The enter- 
prise was successful as usual, if not fully, for Green 
Giorgi himself was not among the hajdamaks he 
waylaid and caught, and Taras had to be satisfied 
with punishing his accomplices. The two most 
guilty he ordered to be shot, while the rest were 
disarmed and shorn of their hair. 

Returning to the settlement, he found his faithful 
old servant alive still, but his last hour evidently 
at hand. But not yet did he refer to his secret, and 
Taras cared not to inquire. Not till the last sands 
were running through did the old man open his lips. 
It was near midnight ; he had been lying still with 
closed lids, hut, suddenly endeavouring to raise him- 
self, he gazed anxiously at the pale, beautiful girl 
who sat by his side. “ Tatiana,” he whispered ; “ for 
God’s sake, where is my master ? Call him — I am 
going!” 

She hastened away, and in another minute Taras 
was by the side of the dying man, taking hold of 
his hand tenderly. And Jemilian having satisfied 
himself that they were alone, began with laboured 
breath : — 

“ I have to make a confession to you, and to ask 
a promise. Hear me — a .dying man cannot use 
many words. Do you know what, after all, will be 
your end ? ” 

Taras kept silence, a stony look stealing over his 
face. 


POE THE RIGHT — IN THE WRONG. 457 

“The gallows ! ” whispered the old man, and 
shuddered. “It is an evil death, Taras — a horror 
to yourself and a lasting disgrace for your children ! 
And therefore I have been resolved fully and firmly 
to save you from such a death, my poor, dear, dear 
master ! I have sworn to myself, if ever we should 
fall into their hands, and there were no hope of 
escape, to shoot you myself with these hands of 
mine.” 

“ Jemilian!” 

“ Do not hate me ; for never man loved you more 
truly than I did when binding myself with that 
oath. You know what it would have cost me to 
do the deed ! But you are the noblest soul, the 
best and most lovable man that ever lived, and 
such a one shall not be tortured to death on the 
gallows. . . .” 

Taras, quite unable to speak, had fallen on his 
knees by the side of the bed, and was hiding his 
face in the rough bearskin which covered the limbs 
of the dying man. 

Jemilian continued : “ The Almighty is calling 
me hence, and I am not able to show you that love ! 
But I cannot die in peace without endeavouring to 
save you from so horrible a death, for your own sake 
and for the sake of your little ones whom I have 
helped you to rear. Promise me, therefore, Taras — I 
entreat you promise me — that you will do yourself 
what I had intended.” 

“ I cannot,” groaned the unhappy man. 

“Why not? Poor, dear master ! Ah! I know 
how you dread the gallows ! — not the dying, but 
the rope ! The mere thought of it fills you with 
horror and loathing unspeakable. I know it, for 
who knows you better than I do? For this and no 
other reason you have granted the bullet to 
even the blackest rascal we ever brought to his 


20 


458 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


doom. And to yourself you refuse it — why should 
you ? M 

“ Because it were cowardly and a sin against 
God ! ” 

“Nay, surely the Almighty will judge your soul 
with the same justice and mercy whether you 
appear before His judgment-seat a month sooner or 
later. I cannot doubt that ! . . . And cowardly ? 
I do not understand you. . . .” 

“ Yes, cowardly ! ” cried Taras, passionately, and 
rising to his feet. “ It is my appointed lot to be a 
guardian of the Eight, and to strive to carry out 
the will of God concerning it, as far as may be 
possible to mortal man. I must not, I dare not 
renounce that sacred duty. If ever I fall into their 
hands I shall hope and endeavour to make good 
my escape, and continue fulfilling the duty which 
is laid upon me. Yes ! in the very sight of the 
gallows I shall cling to the hope that the Judge 
above will set me free, though it be by a miracle, 
to carry on His work.” 

The dying man was silent ; he fell back on his bed 
and closed his eyes. Taras bent over him. And 
once again those faithful eyes opened on him fully, 
and the old servant whispered, scarcely audibly : 
“ Farewell, dear master, and may God in His mercy 
be with you in death.” A deep breath, and 
Jemilian was gone. 

They laid him out in the morning after their way 
in the mountains, with a crucifix at his head, but 
with a jug of water at his right hand, bread and salt 
at his left, and the skin of a newly-killed kid at his 
feet, “for the other gods.” And after that they 
buried him beneath a mighty fir-tree in the 
Dembronia Forest. No priest prayed over the dead, 
the aged Hilarion only whispered his ancient spells 
handed down from generation to generation, be- 


FOR THE RIGHT— IN THE WRONG 459 

lieved in by all, and understood by none. They 
filled up the grave, discharging their muskets over 
it, and finally cut a cross into the bark of the tree, 
not forgetting some mysterious signs by the side of 
it “ for the other gods.” 

Then they returned to the settlement to partake 
of the funeral meal. But as they entered the 
enclosure Taras perceived a youth standing by the 
hedge, at the sight of whom he gave a stifled cry. 

It was young Halko, the farm-sevant, who, with 
glistening eyes, now burst upon his master and 
kissed his hand. “ Thanks be to God,” he cried, 
struggling with tears, “ we shall all be happy again ! 
The mistress and the children have been set 
free ! They are waiting to see you at the hamlet 
of Magura, at the lower end of the valley.” 

“ My horse ! ” cried Taras, turning to his men, 
“ And why have they not come all the way ? ” 

“ Because of the two gentlemen. It was they 
who refused to come further, lest you might 
think they wished to discover your encampment — 
our little Father Leo, I mean, and that old lawyer 
of Colomea who was your counsel in the suit.” 

“ And what have they come for ? ” 

" To bring you good news, master — really. The 
men of Zulawce are to have their field back, and 
the wrong is to be righted.” 

Taras grew white and then crimson, and again 
the glow yielded to a deadly pallor. But he asked 
no further question, and, mounting his horse, he 
raced down the valley at a pace which left Halko 
far behind him. 

The meeting between husband and wife was 
deeply affecting. Taras flew towards her without 
giving a glance at the men, and Anusia, with a wild 
cry, buried her face on his shoulder. And they stood 
clasping each other speechless, only their tears kept 


460 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


flowing. At length Taras freed himself from her 
arms, and turned to his children, little Tereska 
beginning to cry with fear when that strange-look- 
ing grey-haired man caught her up, kissing her 
wildly ; the little girl did not recognise her father, 
nor did the younger boy. Wassilj only clung to 
him sobbing, “ Oh, father dear, you look so ill — 
so ill ! ” 

Taras made no answer, he took the boy on his 
knee, fondling him and closing his mouth with kisses 
when he would have spoken. It was as though he 
feared human words might destroy the blessedness 
of this meeting. And almost anxiously he avoided 
the eye of either the pope or the lawyer ; still less 
could he have offered them greeting. He kept 
lifting, now this child to his knee, now that, 
pressing them to his heart closely; and drawing 
his wife down beside him, he passed his hand 
tenderly over her grief- worn face. “ Do not speak,” 
he whispered, and she nodded, hiding her head in 
his bosom, to weep her sorrows away. 

Father Leo and Dr. Starkowski had withdrawn 
modestly, watching that most touching scene from 
a distance only. “ There is every hope of his yield- 
ing,” whispered the lawyer. “ God grant that it be 
so,” returned the priest, less confident, evidently. 

Half-an-hour might have passed, when Taras 
roused himself, once more clasping his wife and 
kissing the children with a passionate fervour, as 
though separation once more were at hand. And now 
he went up to the men, expressing his pleasure at 
seeing them, but his voice trembled as with appre- 
hension. “ What is it you have to tell me?” he 
inquired. 

“ We are sent hither by order of the Government,” 
said Starkowski, producing a written document and 
explaining its contents. It was a paper drawn up 


FOR THE RIGHT — IN THE WRONG. 461 

by the district governor, instructing the present 
bearers, and containing, in full, the resolutions 
come to in Vienna. “ To-morrow,” concluded 
the lawyer, “the governor himself will repair to 
Zulawce to re-examine the witnesses in person. And, 
since he is fully determined to get at the bottom ol 
the matter, there is no doubt but that the contested 
field will be* adjudged to the parish, and that the 
perjured witnesses, together with the scoundrel who 
led them on, will meet with their fullest deserts. 
And this is resolved upon, as you understand from 
this communication, for the sake of justice itself, 
and quite irrespective of what decision you may 
arrive at concerning yourself. But we ask you, 
whether there be any just reason left w r hy you 
should refuse submission to the Emperor, the 
guardian of justice in this realm.” 

Taras drew one deep breath after another, but 
answer there was none. 

“ Husband ! ” cried Anusia, wildly, “ tell them 
you are satisfied.” 

“ Do not press him,” interposed Father Leo. 
u Let us consider the matter calmly. . . . Taras,” 
he continued, “ I do not want to urge upon you the 
claims of ordinary wisdom, which might well 
prevail with you, in order to preserve your life, not 
only from ignominious death, but for your children’s 
sake and their future welfare ; for I know that no 
such consideration has influenced your actions 
hitherto and that you follow the voice of your con- 
science only ; but this I will ask of you — does your 
conscience permit you to continue striving in your 
own might, and with fearful means, to bring about 
a result w T hich will be attained peaceably by the 
faithful endeavour of those who are called to this 
duty? ” 

“ This is the very point,” said Taras, slowly. “ I 


m 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


do not know that these endeavours are faithful ! 
Look hack on all this sad experience. Grievous 
crimes have been perpetrated at Zulawce — robbery 
and perjury. I appealed to the law, considering no 
personal sacrifice too great to obtain relief ; but 
every effort proved vain. The robber was left to 
enjoy the benefit of his deed, and the perjurers 
could mock honest men ! Three years nearly have 
passed since this happened, and the matter was not 
likely ever to he taken up again. Now you tell me 
that the men of the law have suddenly remembered 
their duty. Why so ? What is the reason that, all 
of a sudden, they feel called upon to try the case 
over again ? — why are they willing to do so? Because 
these months past they have stood in terror of me, 
and I have left them no peace ! . . . I ask you, 

doctor, as an honest man — would the case ever have 
come to be tried over again if I had followed your 
advice, and lived down my disappointment as a 
peaceable subject on my farm ? ” 

“ Yes, possibly,” returned the lawyer. “ I mean 
it is just as likely that some other chance had made 
it advisable ” 

“ That will do ! ” interrupted Taras. “ By your 
own showing, then, it was a mere matter of chance, 
and you were brought to seek for the right in the 
present instance only because of my forcing you on 
to it through dire warfare. But for this, I repeat, 
you would not have lifted a finger to right the 
wrong ! This is an evil state of things, and must 
not continue, for it opposes the beautiful will of 
God. The case does but lend force , then, to my belief 
that a judge and avenger is grievously needed in 
this country. This, however, is not the only, not 
even the chief, thing I must strive to rectify. I 
found greater wrongs left unpunished elsewhere; and, 
knowing that the men of Zulawce would not miss 


FOR THE RIGHT — IN THE WRONG. 


463 


their opportunity of getting back their field for them- 
selves, there was no need for me to see to it. I soon 
perceived there were other evil-doers in the land, not 
greater scoundrels, perhaps, than Hajek, hut with 
greater scope for wrong ; and therefore I judged well 
to punish and remove them first, and to bring him 
to his doom when I can do so without too great an 
effort or loss of life. But to come to those other 
cases, or to take one only as an example — who, I ask 
you, would ever have thought of ridding the people 
of Kossowince from that vilest of oppressors if I 
had not done it ? And how, then, can I be sure 
that such things shall not happen again — not once, 
but in scores of cases ? Can you pledge yourselves 
that such wrongs shall never again be possible? 
Will you yourselves be the surety that in future no 
man shall be oppressed in this country, or his cry 
for redress die away unheard? ” 

“ This is more than we can promise,” said the 
lawyer ; “ but ” 

“ It needs no further word ! I maintain that a 
judge and avenger was required in this country, and 
will still be required ; and therefore ” 

“ Taras ! ” cried Anusia, with a shriek of despair, 
and clutching his arm, “forbear! Speak not 
lightly ; it concerns our deepest welfare — it is a 
question of life or death ! ” 

Once more the pope interfered. “ Hear me, 
Taras,” he said, speaking with a forced calm ; “ I 
do not condemn your answer so far, for it is no more 
than must be expected from your nature and your 
way of thinking, such as I have known them 
these years. And as a tree could not change the 
colour of its leaves at any man’s bidding, you also 
could not have spoken differently, for your words are 
the outcome of your very being. But I should have 
to condemn you if you were to disregard that 


464 


FOR THE RIGHT, 


which I will point out to you now, and which 
no doubt has escaped you hitherto. Listen to 
me ! You are grievously mistaken if you imagine 
that the law in itself is to blame, or that the 
Emperor wishes his judges to close an eye when poor 
peasants are ill-used by rich and powerful oppressors. 
The law is all right, and those that are appointed to 
dispense it are required to take a solemn oath that 
in all cases they will be just and impartial. And 
again, you are mistaken if you think that our magis- 
trates sometimes pass an unjust verdict wilfully.” 
Taras broke in with a passionate exclamation, but 
the pope stopped him. “ I know what you are 
going to say,” he cried ; “ you want to remind me 
that your wife and your children were arrested. I 
shall come to that presently. Let me urge upon you 
that, taking all in all, the intentions of the magis- 
trates are good, and the laws are good. Just call to 
mind your experience as a whole, and tell me, 
speaking honestly, as before the face of Almighty 
God, Is it the just or the unjust verdicts which are 
the exception ? ” 

“ I have considered this point often,” said Taras, 
quietly ; “ it is true that I have heard of far more 
just than unjust sentences. But what of it, what 
can it prove? ” 

“ Just this,” rejoined Father Leo, warmly, “ that 
an occasional miscarriage of justice is not to be ex- 
plained by imputing it to the ill-will of magistrates. 
What else, then, is to blame? you inquire. I remind 
you that for one thing there is that unfortunate 
survival of feudal times, whereby the lord of the 
manor is vested with judicial authority over the 
peasantry on his lands ; this is fully acknowledged 
to he an evil, not only by you and me, but by Govern- 
ment as well. But it cannot be done away with all 
of a sudden, nor by violent means, for the land- 


FOE THE EIGHT— IN THE WEONG. 


465 


lords exercise their jurisdiction in virtue of Imperial 
grants acquired by purchase in times long gone by. 
It is this deplorable state of things which is to 
blame chiefly, if oppression and injustice go more 
easily unpunished in this country than elsewhere. 
But do not imagine, Taras, that we are the only 
people who ever suffer wrong ; nay, that beautiful 
ladder which has appeared to you in happy vision 
is not anywhere on earth so firmly planted, so utterly 
to be relied on, as you dreamed. For the guardian- 
ship of J ustice in this world is not given to God’s 
angels, but to poor sinful men like you and me. 
God alone is all-knowing, all-wise, and all-just, and 
it is man’s inheritance to judge of things not as they 
are, but rather as they appear. I do not deny that 
there maybe unjust judges here and there ; yet it is 
not this fact which is to blame for the continuance 
of wrong upon earth, but the imperfection of 
human nature. For everything human falls short 
of its highest aim, and perfect justice is with God 
alone ; if, therefore, you are bent on continuing 
your warfare, it will not be against the Emperor 
and his magistrates, nor against the wrong upon 
earth, but against human nature and human 
failings.” 

Taras had bent his eyes on the ground thought- 
fully ; but after a pause of silence he shook his head. 
“ I have followed you,” he said, “ and I grant the truth 
of your points. But of one thing, the most im- 
portant of all, you cannot convince me. I will never 
believe that a man endowed with good sense, pro- 
vided he is honest, could pass an unjust sentence as it 
were against himself. And therefore I must continue 
in my sacred undertaking, for it is nothing to the 
point why any wrong goes unpunished — whether 
the human weakness, or stupidity, or the ill-will of 
the magistrates be at fault. It is enough for me 


20 * 


466 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


that the wrong is there and requires to be rooted 
out.” 

“ This is sheer infatuation ! ” cried Father Leo. 
“ And have you ever considered which is the greater 
wrong, either as regards your fellows or the will of 
God — whether some peasant is taxed with more 
labour than he owes, or whether you fill all the 
land with horror and bloodshed ? Nay, has not a 
harvest of wrong sprung from your very work ? 
Have we not heard of villages rising against their 
lords, refusing their just claims, and threaten- 
ing their lives ? Have you forgotten what 
happened at Hankowce ? and what at Zulawce ? 
Does not the blood of many a soldier — nay, of your 
own men — cry for vengeance unto God? ” 

“I am not afraid to be answerable for this,” 
responded Taras, “ for the Right is more to be 
valued than any man’s life. Both my conscience 
and my reason tell me that, for the world itself is 
founded on justice.” 

“ The world founded on justice ! ” reiterated the 
pope, hotly. “ And how do you know, then, that 
your judgment is always just ? Are not you a man 
like others, and liable to err ? ” 

“ I follow conscience, and rely on the grace of 
God, which will be with him who seeks what is 
right. You know my deeds ; do you accuse me of 
any injustice? ” 

“ What of that poor man Hohenau ! ” 

“ He was one of those magistrates who used the 
power entrusted to them for a deed of violence, for 
fear of earthly punishment.” 

“ Taras,” cried the pope, with a vain attempt to 
speak calmly, “ there is no excuse for you, or rather 
your only excuse is this, that you did not know the 

true state of things ” 

“ I knew all about it,” rejoined Taras. “I was 


FOR THE RIGHT — IN THE WRONG. 4G7 

aware that the Board of Colomea had prayed to be 
dismissed the service rather than be obliged to do 
this deed. But what of it ? You will tell me that 
their request was refused by their superiors, and that 
their oath required them to stay at their post and 
obey the higher authority. But I tell you no oath 
hinds a man to iniquity — and therefore the judgment 
I carried out was a just one ! ” 

Starkowski interposed : “ It is quite useless to 
reason with you on these points, or to expect you 
to retract anything of the past. But tell me, what 
of the future ? Do you really consider yourself in- 
fallible? Do you imagine that you alone will never 
be in danger of passing sentence unjustly? This is 
awful presumption ! ” 

“ No,” said Taras, solemnly ; “ it is an assurance 
resting on the grace of God. He sees and probes 
my heart. He knows that I have undertaken this 
warfare for His sake alone, and He will not let me 
fall so grievously. But even apart from this, I do 
think that an honest, right-minded, and judicious 
man will always be able to distinguish right from 
wrong.” 

“ Then you really believe that an unjust sentence 
on your part is utterly impossible ? Well, let this 
pass ; but supposing the hour ever came that would 
convince you that you also, in striving after justice, 
had done wrong — what then? ” 

“ It were the most fearful hour of my life,” said 
Taras, hoarsely ; “ and I do not speak lightly ! . . . 
I have never considered what in that case I should 
have to do, but it is quite plain. If God ever suffers 
me to commit the wrong, then I shall acknowledge 
that He never was with me, that the blessed ladder 
joining earth to heaven is a dream, and I shall no 
longer call myself an avenger, but an evildoer who 
has deserved every punishment he has ever inflicted 


468 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


on others. If ever such terrible conviction does 
come to me, be very sure I shall give myself up to 
you on the spot. Till then, I have nothing to do 
with you. Take back this message to those that 
sent you.” 

Deep silence followed. 

“ Is this your final decision? ” These words fell on 
the stillness with stifled sobs. It was Anusia — white 
as death, bending forward, hollow-eyed and shaking 
in every limb — who now faced her husband. 

The two men were dismayed, and even Taras 
staggered. “ Anusia,” he began, “ you know ” 

“Nothing else; just this one answer!” She 
looked straight into his eyes, and continued with 
that same ghastly voice : “ But let me tell you first 
what is at stake. . . . Hitherto I have clung to 
this one conviction, that all your deeds' were done in 
obedience to the dictates of your conscience ; and be- 
cause I have known you as a man more noble and 
more just than your neighbours, I would not permit 
myself to doubt for one moment that you continued 
noble and acted justly even where I could not see it. 
I took it upon myself to be both father and mother 
to our children, to rule the farm in your absence — 
the loss to my heart I could not make good. But in 
my sorest hours I strove to encourage myself. ‘ Hold 
up thy head proudly,’ a voice within me kept crying, 
‘ for thou art wife to one who is not like common men ! 
Thou hast loved him for it, and prided thyself on 
it, bear thou the deep sorrow which comes because 
of it. He never was like other men ; he cannot be 
now. He has set his great heart on winning back 
that field for his people, for it is theirs by right, and 
since he was foiled when he sought to gain his end by 
lawful means he is now trying what force will do. 
Since justice is on his side, he will succeed in the 
end, and will come back to you, and happiness 


FOR THE RIGHT— IN THE WRONG. 469 

once more will return.’ This was my one hope 
through it all, and I believed in its fulfilment and fed 
upon the longed-for blessing. When the governor 
came to tell me what message had been received 
from Vienna, ah ! then indeed, my heart beat with 
the rapture of its gratitude ! I learned at the same 
time, however, that they could not let you go un- 
punished, and that you might very likely have to 
atone for your deeds with a long imprisonment ; 
but even this my love and pride were ready to bear. 

‘ He will not be a whit less great and noble,’ I said to 
myself, ‘ and prison cannot degrade him ! And far 
better to know him in prison, and making up for these 
months, than to think of him continuing this fearful 
life.’ For, Taras, no human tongue can tell what it 
means to be the avenger’s wife ! God knows, and I 
do ! . . . And will you now crown it all — will 

you heap up a burden of grief and shame be- 
neath which I and the children must break down 
entirely ? ” 

“ Anusia ! ” 

“ Be silent, and listen ! I have borne the utmost ; 
now let me speak. I say this, that unless you 
return, now that the wrong is about to be made 
good, and the field given back to its rightful owners, 
you will cease to be believed in as noble and good, 
not only by me, but by all upright and sensible 
men ; you will no longer be a champion of the 
oppressed and an avenger for conscience’ sake, but a 

mere common assassin, a bloodthirsty ” 

“ Anusia, wife, for God’s sake ” 

“ Do not call me wife ! I will not acknowledge 
an assassin as my husband, nor let the children call 
him father. Now tell me— are you willing to follow 
these gentlemen or not? ” 

“ I cannot ! ” 

“ Then go your ways . . . but in your dying 


470 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


hour you shall call me in vain ... I will 
not ” 

She could not finish the terrible sentence, break- 
ing down, not in unconsciousness, but overpowered 
with the boundless passion of her resentment. . . . 

The unhappy man hid his face in his hands, and 
then slowly, with a faltering step, but not again 
lifting his eye to her he was leaving, he returned to 
his horse, and, mounting it with evident effort, he 
rode swiftly away towards the Black Water, nor 
once looked behind him. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE BANNER SOILED. 

T HE following day the district governor arrived 
at Zulawce. He had been careful to let the 
villagers have full assurance beforehand that he 
was coming with truly peaceful intentions, but he 
considered it prudent, nevertheless, to provide him- 
self with a considerable escort of hussars, since 
besides sifting the evidence concerning the field, 
there was that republic to be overthrown, and 
a new mandatar to be introduced. For Count 
George Borecki had succeeded at last in finding a 
man who expressed himself willing to unravel the 
complication left by Wenceslas Hajek, this man of 
enterprise fortunately being an old acquaintance of 
the villagers, Mr. Severin Gonta ; and there was 
some hope of his succeeding, for he was thoroughly 
acquainted with local affairs and enjoyed the good 
will of the peasantry besides. But Herr von Bauer 
was not so certain that hostility was entirely out of 
the question, and apart from the consciousness of 
doing his duty in a matter of justice, he very gladly 
relied on the sharp sabres of his body-guard as well. 

But his apprehensions happily proved unfounded. 
On his reaching the wooden bridge leading over the 
Pruth, the whole parish, to be sure, was there await- 
ing him, but peacefully inclined, thanks to Simeon 
Pomenki, who had addressed the republicans on 
the previous evening to this effect : “ There now, 


472 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


you see, we get all we ever could ask for — the field 
which is ours, our own old mandatar, who is no 
fiend, and exemption from punishment for what is 
passed. If we are not satisfied with this, but 
insist on carrying on the conflict, we had better 
apply for admission into the madhouse at once. 
But I am no fool, and prefer the chances offered 
me of continuing on my farm.” This harangue did 
not miss its aim, and Simeon was able to receive the 
district governor in the name of the community 
respectfully. 

Herr von Bauer was ready to be conciliated, and 
replied with his customary bluntness : “It is a 
satisfaction to see you, rascals though you are ; but 
you are poor wretches after all, and have had to 
suffer for the life you have led us, so we’ll forget all 
aboirt it and be friends again. As for you, old Simeon, 
I’ll not even inquire into your private feelings as 
King of Zulawce. You’ll hand me over that crown 
now, and if ever you men here are going to play 
the fools again, send us word first, and we’ll say be 
hanged to all the parish. So that is settled ; and 
in the meantime we shall expect better things of 

After which impressive statement old Gonta 
addressed the peasantry on behalf of the Count, and 
if he was less outspoken, his kindliness was quite as 
apparent, winning over the villagers entirely when 
he assured them in conclusion that he was prepared 
himself to plead their rights concerning that field, 
and that he felt sure of Count George’s readiness to 
withdraw any claims that might have been urged in 
his name, without waiting to see what decision the 
authorities might form. 

In these circumstances it was easy for the 
district governor to arrive at the truth concerning 
the field, though he experienced some difficulty in 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


473 


eliciting a confession from the perjured witnesses. 
The experienced magistrate perceived well enough — 
and was ready to make allowance for it — that these 
persons would think it hard to be excluded from the 
general pardon; but he went through with his 
duty bravely, assuring them that, although the 
instigators could expect little mercy, those who had 
been led on by them might hope to be treated 
leniently, if a point of the law could possibly be 
stretched in their favour. And he succeeded at last 
in making out several cases in which the 
mandatar, either personally or by means of his 
under-steward, Boleslaw, had corrupted the wit- 
nesses and led them on to perjury. He had the 
true charity not to inquire more closely than was 
absolutely necessary, and allowed the crest-fallen 
sinners to return to their homes, the judge going 
bail on their behalf. 

His object accomplished, he returned to Zablotow, 
where Dr. Starkowski and Father Leo were to 
await him with the results of their mission. He 
was fully prepared to hear of their failure, and not 
surprised, therefore, at their tale. 

“We shall have to proceed now against the mis- 
guided man,” he said, quietly. “ Let him do his 
worst. We can breathe more freely now than we 
could before, for our own conscience is at ease ! To 
be sure, all we can do for the present is to protect 
the lowlands against him as best we can ; an expe- 
dition to the Black Water, in the hope of catching 
him, would be sheer madness, for the whole of the 
Carpathians would rise in an uproar. I know those 
Huzuls ! But he will be brought to book somehow. 
It is well he believes that God is with those who 
seek what is right — he will find it so sooner or 
later ! ” 

September verged upon October, and though 


474 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


almost daily expected, no further violence transpired, 
the reason being that no complaints had reached 
Taras which appeared to him worthy of redress. 
But before the month was out he received informa- 
tion which roused him to action. A certain noble- 
man, Baron Stephen Zukowski, of Borsowka, in 
the district of Czortkow, was accused to him by 
Karol Wygoda, the piper, who had continued 
with Taras, and in whom the latter rested full 
confidence. “ Your work is but half done, hetman,” 
the man exclaimed, “ while that fiend is allowed to 
suck the very blood from the people of Borsowka ! ” 
and he enumerated a whole string of iniquities to 
be brought home to that nobleman. 

Taras was indignant. “We will put an end to 
his doings ! ” he cried. “ But how do you come to 
know of them ? ” 

“ I knew the wretch long ago ; for though my 
own home is miles away from that village, I was 
in service there in my younger days, and could see 
for myself — indeed, his unblushing crimes were done 
in the light of day. Not a head of cattle was safe 
from his cupidity, and not a girl from his wickedness 
— but these are old tales, it is well nigh twenty years 
ago, and I believed the old sinner had gone to his ac- 
count long since. But he is alive still, and carrying 
on his evil doings, as I learned yesterday, quite acci- 
dentally. You had given me leave, as you know, 
to join the merrymaking at Zabie and pick up a 
few coppers with my bagpipe. T met an old fiddler 
there who had just come from Borsowka. Ah, 
hetman, the iniquity done in that place keeps crying 
to heaven — it is worse than any we ever heard of 
elsewhere ! ‘ Why don’t the injured people call upon 
Taras to help them?’ I inquired of the fiddler. 
* Indeed,’ he said, ‘ it is strange they do not think of 
it, but the horrors of their existence are enough to 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


475 


kill even hope in their hearts.* So the fiddler said, 
and I can well believe it ; at the same time, I agree it 
is well to be careful. And I propose that you should 
send me to Borsowka to make inquiry. I know 
some folk there whom I can trust, and they will tell 
me the truth no doubt. I feel I must do this for 
conscience* sake, and out of compassion for those 
villagers among whom I lived.” 

“ This is good of you,” said Taras. “ Go, and the 
Almighty speed you. It is a solace to my soul that 
some few honest men will cleave to me, knowing the 
sacredness of our common duty.’* 

These words rose from the depth of his heart ! and 
indeed, he needed some comfort — something to cling 
to — lest he should break down and fail. He had in- 
formed his men on returning from the hamlet 
of Magura what answer he had given to the messen- 
gers of the Board ; but what a wrench it had been to 
his dearest affections, and the sore cost of his final 
parting from wife and child, they never learned from 
his lips. 

As compared with this deepest sorrow, no other 
trouble befalling the unhappy man might be thought 
to affect him, yet his burden seemed to be added to 
daily ; and in spite of the honest desire to avoid all 
contention, in spite of the real friendship Hilarion 
entertained for him, there were constant bickerings 
between his own followers and the clansmen . It was 
Nashko especially, who, on account of his faith, ap- 
peared to be a convenient butt for the mockery of 
the Huzuls. Now Taras could not allow this to con- 
tinue, if only for this reason : the Jew had ac- 
quitted himself splendidly, fully justifying the con- 
fidence reported in him, and would, in any future 
enterprise, naturally have to retain his position 
of a leader ; so the Huzuls must be taught to respect 
him, and Taras begged Hilarion to explain to his 


476 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


people that a man should not be derided for worship- 
ping the Almighty in one way and not in another. 

The patriarch fixed his eyes on the ground, keep- 
ing a long silence, as was his wont before answering, 
and when he began to speak he appeared to have 
forgotten the matter in hand. “ Taras,” he said, 
“ have you ever ridden an ox ? ” and receiving a 
rather surprised “ No” in return, he said, with a 
half smile, “ Well, neither have I, and I don’t know 
that any one else ever did. But why not ? Might 
there not be found an animal among the species, well- 
grown and nimble enough to serve as a mount? In 
fact, I should say it is quite possible. At the 
same time, neither you nor I ever thought of trying 
it. And why ? simply because, for a fact, God who 
made the ox, did not intend it for a steed, and be- 
cause every man who used an ox for such a purpose 
against its nature would look a fine fool on its back. 
You will allow that ? ” 

“ I daresay, but I don’t admit the simile ; a Jew 
is as good a man as you or I.” 

“ Certainly,” said Hilarion. “ The ox and the 
horse are equally useful, only in different ways ; and 
a Jew is as good a man as ourselves, but differently 
endowed. Say what you like, but a Jew is ill-fitted 
for the bearing of arms, or to lead men in warfare ; 
they are considered to be cowardly and servile, and 
no doubt are so.” 

“ Nashko is a brave man, and has acquitted 
himself like a hero.” 

“ I am sure he has,” rejoined the old man, “ but 
I maintain we do not ride an ox, even though we 
should know of one exceptionally well fitted to 
carry us. And we do not do so for the one reason 
that oxen as a rule are not considered to be first- 
rate steeds. And if a man insists on making the 
experiment, though it should turn out to his own 


THE BANNER SOILED. 477 

satisfaction, he must not quarrel with his neighbours 
for laughing at him, nor scold his horses if they toss 
their heads at the queer creature he is stabling along 
with them. No, Taras,” he added more seriously, 
“ it is never satisfactory to fight established opinion, 
and you seem determined to run that head of yours 
right through the thickest walls ; and not content 
with overthrowing injustice wherever you see it, 
you would actually have the world make friends 
with the Jews. Taras, have you considered that 
sometimes it is not the walls which go to pieces, 
but ” 

“ The head may dash out its brains against them, 
I know that,” said Taras, quietly, “ and it does not 
deter me for one moment. I entreat you to lay it 
upon your people not to sin against the laws of 
hospitality with regard to Nashko. He who offends 
him offends me.” 

“ I am sorry for that,” replied Hilarion, “but I 
cannot help it. He who receives hospitality must 
consider the ways of his hosts.” 

So the conversation served not to heal the jar, as 
Taras had hoped, but rather widened it, and the 
Huzuls annoyed Nashko even more than before. 
Taras was grievously disappointed, and resolved 
to avoid further altercation, but something happened 
which forced him against his will to appeal a 
second time to the patriarch’s sense of justice. It 
concerned Tatiana. 

The poor maiden once more had reason to bewail 
her bewitching beauty. Hilarion had offered her 
the shelter of his house, and she had gratefully 
accepted it, endeavouring to repay her benefactors 
by faithful service. She could not have lived 
many days among the tribe to whom her strange 
fate had brought her without perceiving that 
their moral sense was of the bluntest ; but she 


478 


FOB THE BIGHT. 


endeavoured to keep out of harm’s way by 
attending to her work, and to nothing else. The 
impudent youths, moreover, soon discovered that 
the youngest son of the house, the Eoyal Eagle, 
was not inclined to have her molested ; and, indeed, 
he interfered with any intended liberty of theirs so 
effectually, that they dared not offer it, for even the 
boldest of them could ill stand his ground against 
that young hero. The girl was glad of his 
protection, her natural light-heartedness returning, 
till one day, when gone a-milking to a distant 
pasture, she grew aware, to her intense dismay, that 
Julko had defended her for no very lofty motive. 
She broke' away from her ungenerous admirer, and 
like a hunted deer fled to Taras’s camp, falling on 
her knees before him with the bitter cry : “If you 
cannot save me from shame, it had been better for 
me to die on the gallows ! ” 

Taras endeavoured to calm her, and was going to 
set out immediately for Hilarion’s dwelling. But 
Nashko laid hold of his arm, excitedly. The Jew, 
who had kept his composure so admirably through 
all the petty insults offered to himself, was shaking 
with rage, and his eyes flashed fire. 

“ Do not humble yourself in vain ! ” he cried. 
“ You are going to ask these men for manly gene- 
rosity — these men, Taras ! Why, they will never even 
understand your meaning; and if they did they are 
too savage, too low, to grant it ! ” 

“ You smart at the recollection of their insults,” 
said Taras ; “ but this is unjust.” 

“ I do not ! ” cried the Jew, passionately. 

“ What is it, then, that moves you like this ? M 
Nashko grew white, and again the crimson glow 
flushed his clear-cut face. “ Go,” he murmured, 
“ and judge for yourself.” 

Taras went, and was hardly able to believe his 


THE BANNEB SOILED. 479 

ears, for Hilarion’s reply was of the shortest and 
driest. “ There is no help for it,” he said. 

“What?’* cried Taras, utterly amazed. “Do 
you mean to say that we have saved the girl from 
her ignominious fate only to hand her over as a 
plaything to that son of yours ? 'For shame ! ” 

“ Moderate your feelings,” returned the aged man, 
quietly. “ If the Eoyal Eagle has cast his eye on a 
maiden, and would have her, she has every reason 
to be proud of it.” 

“ In honourable wedlock, then ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no ! he is promised in marriage to the 
only granddaughter of my cousin Stanko, on the 
other side of the Czernahora, and she will be his 
wife as soon as she attains her sixteenth year. 
Stanko and myself arranged this more than 
ten years ago, for she is his heiress and must marry 
into the family.” 

“ Then I was right in concluding that he desires 
the girl for his pleasure merely ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly ; and why should he not ? she is 
fair enough to behold. Why on earth do you look 
as if he meant to eat her ? You cannot expect him 
to consider her more unattainable than any of our 
own girls. I give you leave to ask any Huzul 
maiden you please whether she would not feel 
honoured by his attentions.” 

“ That is nothing tome,” cried Taras. “ Tatiana 
considers it shame, and I call it vilest disgrace ! I 
entreat you to hold her safe from your son.” 

“ I cannot interfere ; I said so before,” said the 
old man ; “ and there would be little use endeavour- 
ing. If the maiden indeed is so coy as you tell me, 
I can only advise her to leave the settlement.” 

Furiously indignant, Taras went back to the 
camp. Karol Wygoda had returned in his absence, 
bringing with him two peasants from Borsowka 


480 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


But Taras waved them aside; he was going to 
consult with Nashko first, who rushed out to meet 
him anxiously. 

“ You were right/’ said Taras, grinding his teeth, 
“ and I know not where we can hope to protect 
her.” 

“ But I do,” cried the Jew, eagerly. “ She dare 
not leave the mountains, because prison still awaits 
her in the lowlands ; but we must place her where 
Julko’s power is not acknowledged. I have thought 
it might be best to take her to Zabie ; I have 
acquaintances there, an old Jewish innkeeper and 
his wife, who I doubt not will give her shelter. 
They have no children of their own, and I know 
they can be trusted. I mentioned the girl’s sad 
history there the other day, and the good wife shed 
tears, assuring me she would love to show kindness 
to one in such trouble.” 

“ But if Julko should follow me thither? ” inter- 
posed the girl, anxiously. 

“Even if he should, he will not dare to use 
violence,” said the Jew. “ But I do not think him 
capable of that. He is not a scoundrel, but only a 
lawless youth whose nature at times is too strong 
for him, and who never learned to keep it under. 
Moreover, it is true Huzul fashion — out of sight, 
out of mind. You will be safe there, I think.” 

“ Let us hope so,” said Taras, deciding for this 
plan ; “ for, indeed, we have no other choice. 
Make ready, poor girl, to ride with us ! ” 

And turning to Karol now, he required his 
report. 

“ Captain, it is just fearful! ” asserted this man, 
“ If that priest at Kossowince was a fiend, this 
baron is one double-dyed.” And therewith he pro- 
ceeded to give instances of his atrocious cruelty and 
oppression. 


THE BANNER SOILED. 481 

“ Have the people appealed to the law ? ” inquired 
Taras. 

“ Indeed, they have ; but he is not only the 
greatest scoundrel, but the vilest liar under the sun. 
He has given the lie to every accusation, and the 
magistrates have believed the nobleman rather than 
the poor, ignorant peasants. Ah ! captain, you 
should have seen their grateful tears when I told 
them I was one of your men, and that you had sent 
me. They are waiting and hoping for you now, 
as for their only saviour; but hear their own 
messengers.” 

And his companions came nearer — a poorly-clad 
elderly man of dignified bearing, who introduced him- 
self as Harassim Perko, the judge of Borsowka, and 
a younger peasant wearing a fine sheepskin. He 
called himself Wassilj Bertulak, and his voice was 
husky, as with suppressed tears, in giving his tale of 
woe ; indeed, he could hardly speak. 

“ Our people have sent me because the monster’s 
most recent crime has laid low the pride of 
my life. Ah ! my poor daughter ! ” and he turned 
away, overcome with sobs. But all the more minute 
was the judge’s account, and it did not require his 
final entreaty to confirm Taras’s resolve that he 
must start on the spot for Borsowka. 

The assistance of the Huzuls was not needed in 
the present instance, for although Taras’s men num- 
bered less than a score now, they would suffice for 
overpowering the baron, who, with a few old servants, 
lived in the quiet manor house of Borsowka. Taras 
therefore returned to Hilarion only to take his 
leave. 

“ The Almighty speed you,” said Hilarion. 
“ Let us part mends. You are a welcome guest 
here whenever you please to return, and the flower 
of the clan is ever at your service. I have par- 


21 


482 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


taken of your blood and you of mine ; this is a tie 
which can never be severed. Remember it always.’* 

“ I shall remember it,” said Taras, bending over 
the old man’s hand. 

He mounted with his men, and the little troop 
followed the Czeremosz till they reached Zabie. 
There he handed over Tatiana to the old Jewish 
couple, requiring their solemn assurance that they 
would watch over her as though she were a child of 
their own, and after the fashion of their race they 
gave the promise with many oaths. This settled, 
the band dashed away towards the plain, the two 
men of Borsowka in their midst. 

Early on the fourth day, riding under cover of the 
night only, they reached the chalky cliffs on the left 
bank of the Dniester. There they rested for the 
last time, being within a few miles of the quiet manor 
house they were about to enter. Late in the after- 
noon a pale faced girl, looking troubled and shy, 
appeared in the glen where they halted. Wassilj 
Bertulak going to meet her, greeted her with a 
father’s affection, and taking her by the hand 
brought her to Taras. “ My poor girl,” he said, 
“ she has come to see the scoundrel meet with his 
reward.” 

“ Oh ! no ! no ! ” cried the girl, alarmed. 

“ Yes, yes, it is necessary,” urged the father, “ for 
he might deny it all.” 

Taras looked compassionately at the troubled 
girl. “ Stay with us,” he said, tenderly. “ Poor 
child ! I daresay it is a sore effort to you to tell of 
your grievous sorrow in the presence of so many 
strange men. But let the thought comfort you 
that you do it in order to save others from similar 
harm.” 

And then he made his disposition for the night. 
The manor house was in a lonely place, inhabited 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


483 


only by the baron, his old body-servant, Stephen, 
and Peter, the coachman ; the steward and the rest 
of the men sleeping in the farm-buildings near the 
village. Resistance, therefore, need not be expected, 
and Taras satisfied himself with appointing Nashko 
and the greater part of his men- to guard the grounds, 
whilst he, with the others, would bring the accused 
nobleman to his doom. 

About eleven they started, reaching the modest 
building soon after midnight. The outer door was 
not even locked. 44 No doubt that coachman has 
attractions in the village,” whispered the judge, who 
was of Taras’s party. But when they entered the 
basement, in order to make sure of Stephen, 
that conjecture proved to be erroneous. They 
found but one man, the coachman, who started 
aghast and prayed for his life pitifully. 4 4 1 
am no assassin,” said Taras, and inquired about 
Stephen. 44 His dying sister sent for him this morn- 
ing,” stammered the terrified Peter; 44 and the 
baron gave him leave to go.” 

Taras thereupon ordered Sefko to guard the man ; 
he, with the others, mounting the stairs. The baron 
seemed to have been roused, for a door opened, a 
streak of light appearing, a voice weak with age 
calling out, “Peter, what is the matter ? ” 

“We have come to tell you,” the strong voice of 
Taras made answer. 44 1 am the avenger.” 

There was a cry in response, and a sound as 
of breaking glass ; sudden darkness enveloped 
the scene, for the lamp had fallen from the 
trembling hands. But power to attempt an escape 
seemed wanting. And when Taras, torch in hand, 
reached the upper landing, he found the aged 
nobleman leaning' against his open bedroom door, 
simply petrified with dismay. 

Lazarko, at a sign of the captain’s, pushed him 


484 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


back into the room. It was a spacious chamber, but 
poorly furnished, and serving evidently as a library 
besides, for the walls all round were covered with 
bookshelves, and a large table in the middle was 
littered with volumes and papers. The whole 
aspect of the room seemed to deny that it was in- 
habited by a man of low pursuits. And so did the 
baron’s own appearance. Taras looked at him sur- 
prised, for the man he had come to judge was bowed 
with age, and of a venerable countenance. But 
for a moment only he hesitated, his inflexible 
sternness returning. He knew that appearances were 
deceptive : did not that monster at Kossowince gaze 
at him like an angel of light ? 

“I have come to judge you,” said Taras, austerely. 
“ You have wronged your peasants with unheard-of 
oppression.” 

“I?” groaned the poor old man, sinking into a 
chair. “ By the blessed Lord and His saints, some 
one must have lied to you ! ” 

“ Do not call upon the holy names ! ” returned 
Taras, with lowering brow. “ I am prepared to 
hear you deny the charge, but witnesses are at 
hand. Is it true, or not, that you have acted like a 
tyrant by your people, robbing and wronging them 
fearfully ? ” 

“ I call God to witness that this is false ! ” cried 
Zukowski, solemnly, lifting his hand. “ Ask the 
judge, he will tell you ; his name his Harassim 
Perko, and his is the first house this side of the 
village. He can be here within an hour if you send 
for him.” 

“ He is nearer than you suppose,” said Taras, 
turning to the door ; and the elder of his two guides 
entered. “ Here he is,” continued Taras, “ do you 
call upon him as a witness? ” 

“ This is not the judge of Borsowka,” exclaimed 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


485 


the baron, and rose to his feet. “ Why this is 
Dimitri Buliga, an old good-for-nothing whom no 
one respects here, and he left the village some 
time ago.” 

These words were spoken with such a show of 
simple truth and honest indignation that Taras 
looked at the peasant doubtfully. But the man 
never winced ; answering the charge with a smile 
almost. “ I must say, Baron, this beats all we ever 
knew of you as a liar ! It is natural that you should 
seek for a loop-hole, but I suppose I know that I am I ! 
This is preposterous. . . After this it will seem use- 
less, hetman, to ask this wretch another question. 
Let that man of yours speak for my identity 
whom you sent to us, he knows me — that is one 
comfort.” 

And Karol Wygoda cried out : “ Yes, hetman, 
certainly, I have known him these twenty years ; 
his name his Harassim Perko, and he is the judge 
of this village.” 

“ It is false,” groaned the baron, and, stepping 
closer, he looked into Wygoda’s face. “ You also 
seem known to me. . . Yes, I remember — your 
Christian name is Karol, and you were in my service 
as a farm labourer years ago. I remember you 
because you are the only man I ever had to hand 
over to the law.” 

Karol listened with an unperturbed air, looking 
at the baron with an amused sort of wonder, as 
one might examine a natural curiosity ; and, turning 
to the hetman, he said : “ There now, this is as fine 
a proof as we could expect of this man’s capacity of 
wronging a poor fellow. I daresay he may remember 
having seen me since I lived in the village ; but I 
never set foot on his property, and still less did I 
give him any chance of handing me over to the law, 
as he says.” 


486 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“Have you no fear of God, man?” broke in the 
baron. “ I ” 

“ Stop,” said Taras ; “ answer me one more 
question. Do you think that your own servants are 
likely to betray you, or tell a lie in order to have 
you killed?” 

“ God forbid ! ” exclaimed the baron, eagerly. 
“ Honest old Stephen, I fear, cannot have returned, 
but my coachman sleeps in the house, and he can 
tell you that this man is not Harassim, the judge.” 

“ Have him in,” ordered Taras, and the coach- 
man appeared ; his hands had been tied on his back, 
he was pale as death, and shook from head to foot. 

“You have nothing to fear,” said Taras; “we 
only want you to tell the truth ; but woe to you if 
you prevaricate. Who is this man? ” 

“ Harassim Perko, the judge,” stammered the 
fellow. 

“ Peter ! ” cried the baron, “ you have lost your 
senses. Why, you know the judge as well as I do.” 

“This is sufficient,” said Taras. “Be silent 
now, till I require you to speak. Say, judge, has 
this man taken unlawful possession of part of the 
common field ? ” 

“ He has,” replied the man, adding a minute 
statement. 

“ What have you to say to this, Baron? ” inquired 
Taras, of the nobleman, when the accuser had 
finished. 

“ It is false,” reiterated Zukowski — “ a whole web 
of falsehood. I have told you that this man is not 
the judge, but that good-for-nothing Dimitri. If 
you, indeed, are bent on justice, Taras, I pray you 
send to the village for the real judge. Do not soil 
your hands with innocent blood.” 

“It is you that are bent on lying,” said Taras, 
scornfully. “ Other scoundrels have endeavoured 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


487 


to deceive me, and to stay me in the performance of 
my sacred duty ; but a man of such brazen face I 
have never yet set eyes upon. It is a pity that you 
seem willing to die as you have lived. . . . But we 
have yet other witnesses — bring them in.” 

The peasant Wassilj entered, followed by the 
reluctant girl ; her father had almost to drag her in. 

44 Do you know these two ? ” said Taras. 

44 The man is a stranger to me,” replied the 
baron, unhesitatingly; “I have never set eyes on 
him. But that girl was in my house this morning, 
with a message from my poor Stephen’s dying 
sister, entreating him to come. . . . Taras !” he 

added, excitedly ; “ now I see all this wretched plot. 
They have made up this tale of the dying sister to 
decoy my good old Stephen away, who would rather 
have died than betray me, and I suppose they have 
bribed my coachman . They are deceiving you, so 
that you should order me to be murdered ! ” 

“ This is cleverly put together,” said Taras, 
coldly, 44 it is lamentable, indeed, that, gifted as you 
seem to be, you did not make better use of your life ; 
it might have saved you from this hour. Answer 
me, Marinia, as in the presence of God Almighty. 
Is it true that you were in this house this morning 
for the first time in your life ? ” 

“ No ! ” she faltered. 

44 But you were here three weeks ago when this 
wretch wronged you ? ” 

“Yes!” 

44 How dare you! ” cried the baron, with flashing 
eyes. 4 4 Oh, God ! how should I — look at my grey 
hairs, man ! ” 

44 Silence ! ” returned Taras. 44 What have you 
to say, Peter — does this girl speak the truth? ” 

44 She does — old Stephen told me.” 

44 The Lord have mercy on me ! ” groaned the 


488 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


doomed man. “ Taras, have pity on my age. I 
have but little money in the house, but what there 
is, take it all — only spare me ! ” 

“ I am not a robber, but an instrument of God’s 
justice,” replied Taras, solemnly. “ It is very 
evident that you have deserved death amply. If 
you would recommend your soul to the Judge above, 
I will give you ten minutes.” 

“ Spare me, for mercy’s sake ! Call any of the 
peasants, there is not a man in the village but 
would stand by me.” 

“We have had sufficient witness. Say youi 
prayers.” 

“ Assassin ! ” cried the aged baron, and with the 
strength of despair he flew at Taras. But a bullet 
from Lazarko’s pistol laid him dead at their feet. 

The girl shrieked and fainted, her father carrying 
her from the room. The others remained till they 
had found the cash-box. It contained, as the baron 
had said, but a moderate sum. 

Taras avoided touching the money. “ Take it,” 
he said to the judge, “ and divide it justly among 
those that have suffered most.” 

Before the day broke the manor house of 
Borsowka lay wrapped in silence as before, and 
utterly lonely, for Peter the coachman had gone off 
with the two villagers, Taras and his little band 
speeding back to the mountains. 

The following day, after a sharp ride, they reached 
the low-lying, water-intersected waste between 
Kotzman and Zastawna, where they resolved to halt 
till the evening. The place being within easy distance 
of Karol Wygoda’s home, the latter begged to be 
allowed to look up his relations. “ I have no 
objection,” said Taras, “ only be careful not to fall 
in with any traitors. I shall expect you back by 
sundown.” 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


489 


Karol promised and went. 

But he did not return. Taras, growing anxious, 
kept waiting for him, gazing into .the deepening 
night, but not a sound broke on the stillness. 

“We had better start without him,” said Nashko, 
at last. “ Either he has been caught, and in that 
case it were folly for us to tarry ; or else he has made 
up his mind to remain with his own people, in which 
case we cannot force him to come back to us.” 

“ 1 cannot believe that,” said Taras ; “ for he has 
ever proved himself a trustworthy man ; he would 
certainly have told me if he had any idea of leaving 
us. And I cannot bear to think that the faithful 
soul has come to grief. Some accident may have 
detained him ; indeed, I feel sure he will return. 
Let us wait till midnight, at least.” 

But midnight came and no Karol. With a 
troubled heart Taras at last gave orders to mount. 

On the third day, which they spent under the shel- 
ter of the forest by the Czeremosz, Taras consulted his 
men, whether they had better return to the camp in 
the Dembronia Forest, trusting to the Huzuls for 
further assistance in any considerable enterprise, or 
move northward to the Welyki Lys and gather a 
new band to their banner. But they would not de- 
cide. “ We follow you whichever way you lead us,” 
they said. 

“Well, then,” said Taras; “I am for taking 
you back to the Dembronia Forest. The Huzuls, 
certainly, are troublesome confederates, but we must 
not consult our feelings, we must do what seems 
best for the cause we serve. While Hilarion is in- 
clined to back us we are strong, whereas without him 
we might not always be able to fight great wrongs 
effectively.” 

It was late in the evening of this day that they 
rode into Zabie. The village lay hushed in sleep, 


21 * 


490 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


the cottages standing dark and silent, the inn ex- 
cepted, whence a pale light gleamed, though the 
place was closed for the night. Taras rode up to 
one of the uncurtained windows, and peered in. The 
large bar-room was empty, save for a bowed figure 
sitting by the hearth, motionless. 

“ It isFroim, the innkeeper,” cried Nashko, who 
was looking in at another window. “ For God’s sake 
— I trust nothing has happened ! ” And, trembling 
violently, he tapped at the pane. 

The old Jew started, turning to the table as if to 
extinguish the flickering lamp. But recognising 
Nashko’s voice, he came to the window instead, 
opening it, and saying with a hoarse whisper: “I 
suppose you would like to have a last look at her ! ” 

“ Tatiana ! ” cried Taras. “ Man, say, what is 
it?” 

“ We could not have her laid out here,” continued 
the innkeeper, slowly and shaking with emotion. 
“ Poor lamb ! we would have loved to show her that 
last honour, but we are Jews. She is in the little 
chapel of the cemetery, and to-morrow they are 
going to bury her.” 

“She is dead!” cried Nashko, with anguished 
voice. 

“Did you not know? I thought you might have 
returned so speedily for this sad reason,” cried 
Froim. “We got her out of the water yesterday — 
the good pope here, and myself, and some of the 
villagers; but it was hard work, for the Czere- 
mosz is a cruel river, holding fast its prey.” 

“Tell us,” cried Taras, “who has dared to take 
her life?” 

“ It was her own brave doing,” cried the old Jew. 
“ She would rather die than be dishonoured. Ah ! 
how fair and sweet she was, and how good ; and to 
come by such an end ! ” The honest innkeeper 


THE BANNER SOILED. 


491 


struggled with his tears, continuing, amid sobs, 
“We have known her these few days only, my wife 
and I, but we grieve for her as for a child of our 
own.” 

“But how did it happen?” cried Taras, 
vehemently. 

“ Cannot you see?” returned the old Jew. “ Two 
days ago, toward midnight, that Huzul came ” 

“ The Koyal Eagle ? ” 

“Yes; hut Vulture were a truer name! He 
came with a hundred of his men — or two 
hundred for aught I can tell — and, knocking at 
this very window, insisted that I should let him 
in. ‘ What do you want ? * said I. ‘ Open the door,’ 
says he, ‘ or I shall force it open.’ * I am a poor old 
Jew,’ I replied, ‘ and there are hut three women in 
the house besides me — my wife, and her servant, and 
Tatiana. Of course we cannot resist you, hut I ask 
you whether it is fit for a son of Hilarion, whom 
they call the Just, to turn house-breaker, and 
worse ! ’ 4 Open,’ he retorted, ‘ or you shall rue it.’ 

4 So please the God of Abraham,’ said I, ‘ but I 
shall never let you in with my own hand, for I have 
sworn to keep the girl safe, and God Almighty will 
punish him who breaks his oath. I am afraid of 
you, of course I am, for I am but a poor old Jew, 
but much more do I fear God, and I will not let you 
in.’ So he kicked open the door and carried off the 
girl. On to his own horse he lifted her, holding her 
in the saddle before him, and was off to the Black 
Water. But she was a jewel of a maid, and her 
honour was dearer to her than life. She slipped 
from the horse as they rode by the river and leapt 
into the roaring water. They tried to save her, but 
in vain. I heard of it early in the morning, and 
went to seek for the body with some of our men, 
the good pope himself coming with us. And, as I 


492 


FOR THE RIGHT. 

said, they’ll bury her to-morrow morning. Go to 
the chapel if you like to have a last look at her.” 

The piteous tale had been interrupted with 
many an indignant exclamation from the men, 
Nashko and Taras only listening speechless, nor 
could they find words at once. 

“ Come to the chapel ! ” said Taras, after a sorrow- 
ful pause. 

In deep silence and slowly the hand rode through 
the village, reaching the cemetery at the other end. 
There they dismounted, casting the bridles over the 
railings, and one after another they entered the 
chapel, baring their heads. 

It was a modest place, damp and bare, lit up with 
a couple of torches. And there, at the foot of a large, 
crude crucifix, stood the open coffin in which they 
had laid the body. No one was watching by the 
dead, those to whom the pope had delegated that 
pious duty no doubt preferring to spend the bluster- 
ing night in more congenial quarters. 

With bowed heads and murmuring a prayer the 
outlaws stood by the humble coffin and gazed at the 
marble features, lovely even in death. The fair 
face, but for its pallor, seemed bound in sleep only, 
and the green wreath, the crown of virginity, rested 
lovingly on the maiden’s brow. The hearts of 
these rough men were stirred to their depths, but 
one only was unable to keep silence, and with a 
smothered cry the maiden’s name burst from his 
lips. He broke down utterly. 

That was Nashko. Taras went up to him gently 
and led him out into the night, making him sit 
down on the steps of the chapel. And bending 
over him, he passed his hand tenderly over his face. 

“I know ...” he murmured, “I have seen.it 
for some time . . . and if I cannot avenge her, you 
will do it ! . . .” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


“ VENGEANCE IS MINE.” 

I T was a sad, humble funeral. The blasts of 
October moaned in the valley, and the rain 
hissed and wept. For which reason the villagers 
preferred to remain indoors when, the little bell 
called them early in the morning to attend the body 
to its resting-place, the charitable among them 
murmuring a prayer for the dead. “ She needs it,” 
they said, “having laid hands on herself!” For 
which reason, also, the judge and the elders had 
insisted that she must be buried by the outer wall 
of the cemetery, although the honest pope had tried 
his utmost to show them that the girl deserved their 
pity, even their admiration, rather than their con- 
tempt. But the villagers clung to their opinion, 
and all the priest could do was to take care that 
she should be buried with full church honours. If 
no one else were willing he, at least, would consign 
her to her grave reverently. He appeared at the 
mortuary chapel soon after eight o’clock, followed 
by some half-dozen mourners, and started back dis- 
mayed on beholding a band of armed and wild- 
looking men, evidently waiting for the funeral. But 
he proceeded with his sacred duty bravely, and felt 
touched not a little on perceiving how fervently 
these ill-famed outlaws joined in the prayer he 
offered up by the grave. 

Having ended, Taras came forward, begging him 


494 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


to read three masses for the maiden they had. 
buried. He promised, but refused the money the 
captain was offering him. 

“You may take it without fear,” said Taras, 
smiling sadly, “ it is honestly acquired — we rob no 
man.” 

The priest gave a searching glance in the face 
before him, which looked old and anguished with the 
burden of sorrow this man had borne. “ I believe 
you,” he said, “ but permit me to do a good work 
for this poor girl without taking reward.” 

Taras made no answer, but bowing low, he kissed 
the priest’s hand reverently. The good man, seeing 
him so deeply moved, took courage to whisper a 
word urged by his deepest heart. “You poor, 
misguided man,” he said, gently, “ how long will 
you go on like this ? ” 

“ As long as there is need for it,” said Taras, in a 
tone equally low, but none the less firm and decided. 
“ I have been kept from wrong so far, but I see 
much of it about me.” 

The pope could but shake his head mournfully* 
and went his way. Taras and his men remaining 
yet a while in the cemetery to say their prayers 
by the newly -made grave. Nashko only stood 
aside, gazing at them fixedly, and his eyes glowed 
with a terrible fire. 

But a pitiful scene awaited these men on leaving 
the graveyard — the old innkeeper and his wife 
standing without, weeping and sobbing ; forbidden 
by the strictness of their faith to pass within an 
enclosure at the entrance of which there was 
a crucifix, they had abstained from coming nearer, 
but from a distance had endeavoured to do honour 
to the dead after their own fashion. 

Taras went up to the old Jew. “ You have done 
what you could,” he said, “ and we thank you.” 


“vengeance is mine.” 495 

“ What is the use of making words,” cried Frolm, 
passionately. “ I know I have done what I could, 
hut I could not save her ! I’m a poor old Jew, but 
you are a strong, hale Christian, and if I were you 
I’d make the rascal rue it dearly.” 

“ This is the very thing I am going to do,” re- 
turned Taras, quietly. “ I shall go straight to the 
Black Water to accuse him to his father. And if 
Hilarion will not bring him to due punishment, I 
shall do so.” 

And the band mounted, turning their horses’ heads 
westwards, towards the towering peaks of the Czer- 
nahora. They stopped for the night at the hamlet of 
Magura, reaching the settlement early the following 
day. 

The patriarch appeared to have expected them, 
for his eldest son made haste to invite Taras into his 
sire’s presence, Hilarion receiving him with the 
same dignified complacency with which he had 
parted from him the week before. “You have 
come to call for justice against that young 
son of mine ; but I have anticipated it, and 
punished him as he deserves.” 

“ And what is his punishment? ” inquired Taras. 

“ I have sent him to a distant pasture, where he 
will have to stay till I give him leave to return, and 
I shall take good care not to do so before the spring. 
This will furnish him with leisure to consider his 
folly.” 

“ Folly! ” exclaimed Taras, bitterly. 

“ Yes, folly ! ” repeated the patriarch, pointedly. 
“ Was she the only pretty girl to be had ? He 
ought to have seen that Tatiana had no taste for 
him, but his vanity blinded him ; it was sheer folly.” 

“ But 1 call it a crime,” cried Taras, hotly ; “ a 
mean, dastardly crime ! ” 

The old man nodded. “ I expected to hear you 


496 


for The right. 


say this,” he said calmly; “but you are wronging 
the youth. You must bear in mind that he is a 
Huzul. And, besides, how should he have foreseen 
that the girl would drown herself? I suppose that 
even in the lowlands suicide for such a reason is rarely 
heard of ; but up here, I swear to you, such despera- 
tion in a girl is utterly unknown. If you will bear 
this in mind, you cannot accuse him of anything 
worse than folly.” 

“ It was a dastardly crime,” repeated Taras. “ A 
man acting thus by a poor defenceless girl dis- 
honours himself, and ought to be dealt with accord- 
ingly.” 

“ Do you expect me to understand that I should 
order my son to have his hair cut off as a sign that 
he is no longer fit for the society of the brave and 
honourable of his kind ? ” 

“ I do,” replied Taras, fiercely ; “I even demand 
it. And if you refuse, I must carry out the punish- 
ment myself.” 

There was a long pause of silence. Taras stood 
erect, fully expecting to meet with the old man’s 
indignant denial. But Hilarion preserved an un- 
perturbed calm, closing his eyes as one in deep 
thought. Now and then he would nod his head like 
one arriving at a conclusion, and presently he 
touched a small gong by his side. His eldest son 
entered. “ Call hither the clansmen, young and old, 
as many of them as are about the settlement, 
and request the followers of this man also to enter 
my house. Let all hear my decision.” 

The spacious room presently began to fill, the 
Huzuls thronging in first, Taras’s men following. 
And when silence had settled the aged patriarch 
again nodded to himself, and thereupon he rose 
from his seat, holding in his band an intertwining 
twig of willow — for Taras had interrupted some 


VENGEANCE IS MINE. 


« 


497 


quiet occupation of his — and with solemn voice he 
began : 

“Listen to me, ye men of my people, for I, 
Hilarion, called the Just, to whom you look for 
guidance, have cause to speak to you. Mark it 
well, and tell others if need be. . . You all were 
present when this man of the lowlands, Taras, 
whom they call the avenger, first came to me ; and 
you know how I received him. You witnessed our 
solemn covenant ; how we swore friendship to one 
another, not only for to-day or to-morrow, but 
partaking of each other’s blood as a sign that it 
shall never be broken while the red life-stream 
pulses through our veins. I have kept this sacred 
vow; but he just now has wronged it grievously, 
casting insult, nay, shame, on me by insisting 
that a member of my own house shall be punished, 
not because I say so, but because he wills it, and 
threatening that he himself will carry out such 
punishment if I fail to do so. It is my own flesh and 
blood, even my youngest son Julko, whom he will 
have dishonoured.” 

A cry of indignation burst from the Huzuls, and 
they turned upon Taras. 

“Silence!” commanded the old man. “I have 
called you to hear what I have to say, and for 
nothing else. . . . But what I say is this : a man 
who can thus insult me no longer can be my friend 
and brother.” He held up the twig in his hand. 
“ He and I have been as this branch of willow, 
closely intertwined ; but henceforth we are severed, 
and there is nought to heal the disruption ! ” He 
broke the twig, casting the parts from him, one to 
his right and one to his left. 

“ Urrahah ! ” shouted the Huzuls ; but again the 
patriarch enforced silence, and, turning to Taras, he 
said : 


498 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ You are no longer my friend, but a man who has 
offered me deadly insult ; yet the sacred law of our 
fathers lays it upon me never to forget that 
we partook of one another’s blood ! I therefore may 
not, and will not, have recourse to active enmity 
beyond what you yourself will force me to by 
further affront. It were sufficient affront, however, 
if a man who has acted as you have done should 
continue to insult me by his presence ! For which 
reason I banish you from this settlement, and from 
these mountains, to the extent of my authority. 
You will leave the settlement at once, withdrawing 
from my reach within these mountains in three 
days. And let me warn you that none of you shall 
ever see the lowlands again if, after this, you dare 
brave the presence of my people. It is not on my 
son’s account that I thus threaten you, for I shall 
take care to inform him of your intentions, putting 
him on his guard, and the Huzul lives not who 
fears his enemy when once he knows him ! It is not 
in order to protect him, therefore, that I have said 
this, but simply because you have so deserved it. 
And now be gone ! ” 

“I go,” replied Taras ; “ but I call God and all 
here present to witness that you are disgracing 
yourself and me. I will not avenge it, for I also 
will remember the friendship we had sworn. But 
as for your son Julko, I shall know how to find him 
and visit his wrong on him, like any other evil- 
doer.” 

The fury of the Huzuls knew no bounds, and 
Taras would have been lost had the aged Hilarion 
himself not stepped between him and the indignant 
clansmen, enabling him and his followers to leave 
the house and mount their horses, the wild cries of 
their hitherto confederates pursuing them as they 
rode away. 


“vengeance is mine." 499 

It was a sad departure, and with heavy hearts the 
little hand returned through the dreary landscape 
to the hamlet of Magura. What should they do now, 
and whither turn their steps ? Dark and gloomy 
lay the future before them, but none of the men 
uttered a word of complaint. 

Having reached the hamlet and seen to their 
horses’ needs, Taras gathered his men about him. 

“ I would not for a moment delude you with fair 
speeches,” he said ; “ you know for yourselves how 
matters stand. Just answer me one question : 
Will you stay with me, or go your way ? I could 
not upbraid any one whose courage failed him to 
continue this life of ours. It has been full of hard- 
ships hitherto ; it will be almost unendurable now 
that the Huzuls also are against us.” 

“ Tell us about yourself, hetman,” said Wassilj 
Soklewicz ; “ what are you going to do ? ” 

“ I must continue to the end,” replied Taras ; 
“it is not for me to fail in my duty, even if you 
all forsake me. I shall endeavour to win other 
followers.” 

“Is it thus?” cried the faithful youth; “then 
we will share your fate ! ” All the rest of them 
crying in chorus, “ We will not forsake you ! ” 

“I dare not dissuade you,” said Taras, “it is 
not I, but the cause which claims your fealty ! . . . 
Now the next question is, where' shall we encamp 
ourselves ? In the lowlands the military are on the 
look-out for us, and here we are in danger of the 
Huzuls. I propose we retire to our island fortress 
in the Wallachian bog. By the Crystal Springs, or 
indeed anywhere within the mountains the Huzuls 
would rout us out ; I know them better even than 
you can know them. They were true to us while 
they vrere friends, they will be intense in their 
hatred now they are our enemies. But we are safe 


500 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


from them on that island, where we have the 
advantage, moreover, of being in the very midst of 
the country we would rid from oppression, and in 
a hiding-place we could hold against almost any 
odds. I do not deceive myself concerning the 
danger even there, but I know no better place.” 

They resolved, then, to venture into the lowlands 
the following morning, after which these homeless 
outcasts lay down by their horses, sleeping as calmly 
as though they had found rest by their own firesides 
knowing nothing of the dread burdens of life. 

Two only were awake — Nashko, keeping watch 
outside the hamlet, and Taras, tossing on the bundle 
of straw that formed his couch. Sleep was far from 
the unhappy man, much as he longed for it ; indeed 
it had hut rarely come to him since that terrible 
hour, that last meeting in this very place, separating 
him for ever from wife and child. Alas ! and what 
nameless agony tortured him in those hours that 
seemed an eternity to the sore heart within ! 
It was tben he heard those voices that would not 
be silenced, of regret not only concerning the lost 
happiness of his life, but of a far more terrible 
regret — of awful accusation, much as he fought 
against it when daylight and activity returned. 
The night winds moaned, sounding to him like the 
blending curses of a hundred voices, the never-silent 
reproaches of all those whom he had brought to 
their doom. And when he succeeded for a moment 
in turning his back upon the irredeemable past, fixing 
his relentless gaze on the life before him, the life 
he would have to tread, what was it but a glaring 
reality, a fearful outcome of the shadows behind ? 

He was glad of the first streak of daylight stealing 
into the barn, and, rising from his troubled rest, he 
went out into the cold grey morning, seeking the 
Jew, who walked to and fro at his post looking 


“vengeance is mine.” 501 

pale and wan like a belated ghost. He nodded 
sadly on beholding his friend. 

“We shall not be able to mount for a couple of 
hours yet,” said Taras. “ Turn in now, and have a 
rest.” 

“I could not sleep,” replied Nashko, “but I am 
stiff with the cold, and could scarcely ride without 
first stretching my limbs on the straw.” And, hand- 
ing him his gun, he went away. 

Taras walked up and down, slowly at first, till the 
nipping cold forced him to a quicker pace. It was 
as dismal a morning of late autumn as could well 
be imagined. Cutting gusts of east wind kept 
hissing through the narrow valley, rattling in the 
gloomy fir-wood, and having their own cold play with 
the whirling snow-flakes. The sun must have risen 
by that time, but it was nowhere to be seen ; a pale, 
cheerless light only, descending from the snow- 
capped mountains, showed the muddy road and its 
windings, with a look of hopelessness about it. Not 
a living creature anywhere, not a sound of animated 
being beyond the croaking of a solitary raven on a 
fir-tree near. 

The unhappy man cast a listless glance at the 
dismal prophet. The raven is looked upon as a 
bird of ill-omen, but what of trouble yet untasted 
could its call forebode? Death? Nay, for would 
he not have welcomed it gladly ! And yet, though 
he seemed to know the very sum of human suffering 
laid upon him by a terrible fate, even by his own 
awful will, there was an agony approaching him 
that very morning, the direst possibility of grief for 
his heart and soul, and that cheerless day was to be 
the saddest of all his sad life. . . . 

An hour might have passed, but daylight seemed 
as far off as ever, and the wind continued its play with 
he whirling snow-flakes, so that Taras did not 


502 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


perceive the approach of a horseman, who was 
fighting his way hither from Zabie, till he pulled up 
close by the hamlet.. It was a puny, elderly figure, 
ill-at-ease evidently on his miserable horse, and 
shivering with the cold; for though his garment 
was bedizened abundantly with gaudy ribands and 
glittering tinsel, there was not a scrap of fur to 
yield comfort, his queer head-gear, a tricoloured 
fool’s cap, being fully in keeping with his tawdry 
appearance. On his back, by a leathern strap, he 
carried — not a gun to betoken the mountaineer — but 
a wooden case, from which protruded the neck of 
a violin. Taras examined this strange horseman 
with not a little wonder, concluding presently 
that it was some sort of a mountebank seen about 
the village fairs in the lowlands, where they pick up 
a scanty living, now playing the fiddle, now per- 
forming some jugglery. But what gain might this 
artist be seeking in the wintry mountains ? 

“ What a mercy,” cried the horseman, “ to fall in 
with a living creature at last ! How long shall I 
have to struggle on, tell me, before reaching the 
Dembronia Forest?” 

“What on earth do you want there?” asked 
Taras, surprised. “ You would find only wolves to 
make merry at your bidding, if that .is it — why, the 
forest is utterly uninhabited ! ” 

“ Then I am better informed than you,” retorted 
the fiddler ; “the avenger and his band are in the 
forest, if no one else is.” 

“ Do you want him ? ” 

“ To be sure, and badly ! The poor wretch of a girl, 
1 believe, would claw my eyes out if I did not fetch 
him as I promised.” 

“ What girl? But you may save yourself further 
trouble — I am the avenger.” 

“ You ! ” cried the man, crossing himself quickly. 


503 


‘•vengeance is mine.” 

But coming a little closer, he peered with a half- 
fearful curiosity into the hetman’s sorrowful face. 
‘‘You might he he, certainly,” he muttered; “you 
look exactly as they told me, and poor Kasia said I 
could not possibly mistake the terrible gloom on 
your face. I suppose I had better believe you, and 
you must come with me, else that wretched girl will 
die of her remorse.” 

“What girl? what is it? Where am I wanted? 
Do speak plainly ! ” 

“At the inn at Zabie. She’d have come to you 
instead of asking you to come to her — I mean 
Kasia, my sister’s daughter — she says it is killing 
her, and she must not die without telling you.” 

“ Telling me what ? Has she any complaints to 
make against any wrong-doer?” 

“ No ; she has done that once too often already, 
and is grievously sorry for it now. It is not you, 
though, who are to blame — nor in fact, is she, poor 
thing — but her sweetheart, Jacek, that good-for- 
nothing rascal; if you can pay him out for it, 
’twere well if you did. For it was a damned lie, all 
that story at Borsowka ” 

“At Borsowka?” exclaimed Taras, staggering. 
“ At Borsowka ! ’’ he repeated hoarsely. And 
clutching the fiddler with his strong hand, he 
dragged him from the saddle and shook him till the 
poor creature gasped for breath. “ Speak the 
truth! . . . Is it that Marinia who sent you ? ” 

“ You are strangling me ! Help ! ” groaned the 
fiddler. “ It is not my fault . . . help ! . . . 
murder ! ” 

At this moment Nashko, who had heard the cry, 
came out, followed by the others. 

“ What is it ? ” they inquired, and the Jew, taking 
in the situation, endeavoured to free the agonised 
messenger from the captain’s powerful grasp. 


504 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


“ Aren’t you rather hard on him ? ” he whispered 
to his friend. “ What has he come for ? ” 

But Taras, letting go his hold, stared about him 
like one demented, and a shriek burst from him — 
‘‘A horse! for God’s sake, a horse!” His men 
moved not, utterly confounded. But he broke away, 
dragging a horse from the barn, the first he could lay 
hold on, and mounting it without saddle or bridle 
dashed away in the direction of Zabie as fast as the 
frightened animal could carry him. 

Two hours later he stopped by the inn. The 
horse was done for. He cared not, but rushed up 
'to' old Froim, who came to meet him. “ Where is 
she? ” he cried, wildly. 

“Who? the sick woman?” inquired the inn- 
keeper. “We made up a bed for her in the little 
lean-to.” 

Another minute and Taras stood by the couch. 
The girl had greatly changed since that terrible 
night. She looked as though she had passed through 
an illness, and her eyes were deep in their sockets. 
“ Ah,” she moaned, “ you have come, and I may tell 
you. It has left me no peace day or night. I ran 
away from Jacek to look for my uncle Gregori, that 
he might try and find you, for he was always. . . 

“ Be quick about it,” interrupted Taras. “ I want 
to know the truth ! ” 

“Ah ! do not look at me with those eyes,” cried 
the unhappy girl, hiding her face in her hands, and 
indeed the man bending over her was fearful to 
behold. “ I want to tell you. . . I wish I had 
never done it, but they made me ! ” 

“ Be quick about it ! ” repeated Taras, hoarsely. 
“ You are not Marinia Bertulak, and no peasant girl 
from Borsowka. Your name is Kasia, and you keep 
company with jugglers ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! I am Kasia Wywolow.” 


505 


tl VENGEANCE IS MINE.” 

u And you lied to me in that night, all of you? ” 

“ Yes, we did ; the old baron only spoke the 
truth. The man who pretended to be my father was 
Jacek, with whom I have been going about to 
fairs ; and the other one was a farm labourer, 
Dimitri Buliga, and not the village judge. . . 

“And why did you deceive me?” 

“ It was all Karol’s doing. We, Jacek and I, fell 
in with him at the merry-making here at Zabie, and 
he talked us over ; after which he w T ent to Borsowka, 
where he bribed the coachman and prevailed on 
Dimitri to play the judge. He said he knew 
exactly how to set about it to make you believe the 
story. . . he had an old grudge against the poor 
baron, who years ago brought him to punishment 
for theft. He stole away from you as soon as the 
deed was done, dividing the spoils with Jacek and 
Dimitri, who waited for him at Kotzman. But I 
suffered agony with remorse, and it brought me 
here.” 

“ That will do,” said Taras, faintly ; “ thank you.” 
And he staggered from the room. The old innkeeper 
came upon him presently where he lay in a 
merciful swoon. 

It was late in the afternoon when his men came 
after him, and with them the fiddler Gregori. They 
had not been able to gather the full truth from the 
bewildered messenger, but they had understood 
sufficiently to know that Karol Wygoda had 
deceived them shamefully, and it had filled their 
honest hearts with indignant grief. But pity for 
their unhappy leader was uppermost, for they felt 
rather than knew how fearfully the discovery must 
affect him ; and since he had left no orders, they 
waited hour after hour, with growing anxiety, 
thinking he might return ; and as he did not, 
they now came to seek him. 


22 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


5U5 


“ Yes, he is here,” said old Froim, sorrowfully, in 
answer to Nashko’s inquiry, “and I think he is 
seriously ill. I do not know what that young woman 
may have told him,” he added under his breath, “ but 
it must have been something very awful ; for he 
fainted right out, and when I had managed to bring 
him to again, he just said : ‘ I must go my way to the 
gallows now,’ and never another word has crossed 
his lips. I have tried to rouse him, but he is like a 
stone, staring blankly ; it could not be worse if he 
had buried wife and child. I have spoken to him, I 
have implored him, hut not a sign is to be got 
from him. Will you try it ? — he may yield to your 
words.” 

Nashko told his companions what the old Jew 
had said, and they all agreed. “ Try and rouse 
him,” they said, “tell him that to us he is as noble 
and just as before. How should he, how should we, 
in God’s eyes, be guilty of this blackguard Karol’s 
wickedness ! ” 

Nashko took heart and entered the little room, 
where Froim had prepared a couch for the stricken 
hetman, hut he was unable to deliver the men’s 
message. For no sooner had he closed the door 
than Taras turned to him, saying huskily, but 
firmly : “ Please leave me to myself till to-morrow 
morning ; I must think it over ; not for my own sake, 
for I know what I have to do, but for yours — I 
would like to counsel each of you for the best. I 
can hardly collect my thoughts as yet, it is as 
though I had been struck with lightning. Let me 
3ome to myself first. I daresay Froim will find a 
night’s lodging for you ; and to-morrow — yes, 
bo-morrow morning when the day has risen, I "will 
see you.” Taras seemed fully determined, and 
Nashko could but yield. 

The following day early, when the men had 


“vengeance is mine.” 507 

gathered in the great empty bar-room, Taras came 
among them. They had not seen him for a space 
of four-and-twenty hours, but the havoc wrought in 
his appearance seemed the work of years. He was 
fearfully altered, looking like an old man now, 
overcome with life’s distress. 

“ Dear friends,” he said, speaking very calmly 
and kindly, “ I pray you listen to me, but do not try 
to turn me from my firm resolve. I release you 
one and all from the fealty you have sworn to me. 
I am your leader no longer. Please God, this will 
be the last time that you will see me ; 1 have prayed 
to Him earnestly to let my life and the yielding up of 
its every hope be sufficient atonement. Yes, I have 
pleaded with Him in mercy to let your ways be far 
from mine ; for the path I have to tread will now 
take me to Colomea, to prison, and thence to the 
final doom.” 

A cry of horror interrupted him. “For God’s 
sake,” they cried, “what is it that has come to 
you?” 

“Not thus, if you love me,” he said, gently, 
warding them off. “ I have followed the voice of 
my own heart so far, let me follow it still. That 
voice has deceived me hitherto, leading me to 
misery and crime ; it is speaking well this day for 
the first time ! Yet, be very sure, I was not wrong 
in saying that the plain will of God required Eight 
and Justice to be upheld in this world ; not wrong 
in accusing those of their shortcomings whose 
sacred duty it is to see that justice rules here below, 
but who do not carry out this duty to its fullest, 
holiest meaning. My mistake was this, that I 
fancied this unfulfilled duty could by the will of 
God devolve upon me or any other individual man. 
To be sure I who sacrificed all earthly happiness at 
the shrine of justice, who became a murderer in 


508 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


blind love of the right, and now go to the gallows — 
1 must not be unjust, not even against myself, and 
therefore I say it was a natural mistake. For what 
more natural than to argue : Since they will not 
guard the right whose bounden duty it is, I will 
do so, who am strong at heart and pure of purpose ! 
But, nevertheless, it was a grievous mistake. I see 
it now. I still believe in that grand, holy ladder of 
His making which is intended to join earth to 
heaven ; but plainly it is not His will, even if some 
of its steps at times be rotten, that any single man 
should take upon himself to make up in his own 
poor strength for any failings in that glorious insti- 
tution for working out the divine will. It were 
proud, sinful presumption in any man, and I have 
done evil in His sight, not merely in disregarding 
what mischief must accrue if others followed my 
example, but chiefly on account of the awful delu- 
sion that I was above erring, and that my judg- 
ments must needs be just ! And how did I come to 
imagine this? Because I chose to believe that 
the Almighty must keep me from falling — me, His 
servant, the righteous, justice-loving Taras. It was 
just my pride ! The magistrates, the courts, might 
err, but I never ! And yet how great is the danger 
if the carrying out of justice be vested in any indivi- 
dual man ! — the work I have undertaken could not 
but end like this ! I believed I was doing right, and 
I have been utterly confounded. The Baron of 
Borsowka was a righteous man, and I, who presumed 
to judge him, have been his murderer.” 

“ But that was not your fault ; you were deceived 
by Karol ! ” they cried. 

“ I was,” replied Taras ; “ yet the guilt rests with 
me for not examining into the charge more care- 
fully. Why did I refuse his urgent request to send 
for witnesses to the village ? I am his murderer. I, 


u VENGEANCE IS MINE.” 509 

and no one else ; and since I have judged falsely in 
his case, how can I be sure that I have not done so 
in others ? But, be that as it may, I am an assassin, 
and it behoves me to expiate my crime, submitting 
to those whom God has called to judge any evil- 
doer in the land. I am going to Colomea to give 
myself up.” 

Vainly they strove to turn him from his resolve. 
He kept repeating : “I follow the voice within, and 
it has begun to speak truth.” With heavy hearts 
they perceived it w T as utterly useless to plead with 
him, and listened to his last farewell. He enjoined 
them to separate at once and to begin a new life 
each for himself in different parts of the country. 
He had a word of sympathy, of advice for each. 
“ Forty florins are still in my possession,” he added, 
producing the sum; “it is all I have left of the 
money contributed by honest peasants towards my 
work. Take it and divide it fairly. Let it be the 
same with the proceeds of your arms and horses.” 

And he took leave of them, of each man separ- 
ately, the Jew being last. “Nashko,” he said, “I 
have yet a request to make of you. You love me, I 
know, and I am about to die. Will you grant it ? ” 

“ Surely,” said the Jew, with tear-stifled voice. 

“ I know your intentions with regard to Julko,” 
said Taras, “ and I know the reason. . . . But I 
ask you to forbear, and to leave these mountains 
without bringing him to his due.” 

“ The thought of revenge was sweet,” said the 
Jew, “ but I will do your desire.” 

“Whither will you betake yourself?” asked 
Taras. “ I was able to advise them all, but I know 
not what to say to you ; besides, your judgment is 
better than mine.” 

“ I shall go away — far, far away,” said Nashko. 
“I have heard that in following the sun through 


510 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


many lands you reach the wide sea at last, and 
crossing the sea you reach a country where a man 
is a man, and no one inquires into his creed. I 
shall try for that country, and if so be that I get 
there ” 

“ God speed you ! ” said Taras, deeply moved, 
“ for your heart is honest and you have been true 
to me. So have you all : the Almighty watch over 
your lives ! ” 

He left the room and, seeking his horse, he 
sped away from his friends towards the lowlands, 
vanishing from their gaze. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 

A FEW days later the district governor and Dr. 

Starkowski were having a quiet talk in the 
dusk of the evening. They were sitting in Herr von 
Bauer’s private office, and the latter had just con- 
fided to the lawyer that it was officially settled now 
— and the requisite document a visible fact — that 
the contested field on the Pruth was formally ad- 
judged as belonging, not to the lord of the manor, 
but to the parish of Zulawce. 

“ I am simply thankful it is settled ! ” the 
governor was saying, rubbing his honest old hands. 
“ I always suspected foul play, but since I had proof 
of it, the former judgment has weighed on me 
like a nightmare. It is more of a relief than I can 
tell you ! ” 

“ And yet that judgment was legally correct,” 
said the lawyer, somewhat sadly; “the case had 
been investigated, and witnesses on both sides were 
examined, the evidence appearing unquestionable ! ” 
“ Is this intended for a covert reproach ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” returned Starkowski ; “ and yet 
I cannot think of this tragic affair without a sad re- 
flection on the short-sightedness of all human 
justice.” 

“You are right there,” said the governor, sighing 
in his turn. “ My only comfort is, that we, the 


512 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


authorities of this district, have done our human 
best ; even that coward Kapron ski, cannot be ac- 
cused of wilful injustice. The peasants had been so 
foolish as to move the landmark, and the mandatar, 
rascal that he is, saw his opportunity for taking 
possession. It was quite correct that our commis- 
sioner should have told the peasants that their only 
remedy was the law; and the suit began. Both 
parties were ready to swear, and, indeed, there was 
no other means for eliciting the truth, except by 
putting them on their oath. I admit that 
Kapronski set about it somewhat summarily and off- 
handedly, but I doubt whether, in all conscientious- 
ness I could have arrived at a better result myself. 
If witnesses are open to bribery, perjuring them- 
selves, how should the most careful of judges 
get at the truth ? There was oath against oath, a 
considerable number of the peasantry yielding evi- 
dence in favour of the manor against their own 
interests, and the lord of the manor, moreover, was 
in possession — how then, I ask, should even the 
court’s judgment have been different? There is 
some comfort in this, I assure you ; at the same 
time it is better comfort that the wrongful judgment 
with its sad consequences has been reversed — as far 
as possible at least.” 

“ As far as possible,” repeated the lawyer, 
thoughtfully. “ Poor Taras ” 

“ Don’t talk to me about that man,” interrupted the 
governor, waxing hot ; “or would you have me tax 
the short-sightedness of human justice with his 
history also?” 

“ Certainly, I should say.” 

“ Certainly not, you mean ! What, have you for- 
gotten poor Hohenau? And what of his latest 
murder at Borsowka ? ” 

“ There I am staggered, I own,” said the lawyer. 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


513 


“ Of course you are, because you insist on judging 
the man by the rules of your ethics,” cried 
the governor, as though the deeper bearings of the 
soul were utterly beneath the legal mind ; “ but I, 
who am no psychologist, but a wretched district 
governor in this province of Galicia — worse luck ! 
— I who have had plenty of opportunity of getting 
acquainted with any number of hajdamaks, I tell 
you he is no better than the rest of them ! It is 
all very well to start the business with a fine pre- 
tence, a pretty cloak to cover one’s rags ; he has 
discarded it now, you see, and shows himself as he 
is — a mere wretched assassin. Let us change the 
subject ; I have something more pleasant yet to tell 
you. What should you say to those poor wretches 
at Zulawce, in mortal terror of their lives on account 
of their perjury? — of course, they must bear the 
consequences ! — they are going to be duly sentenced, 

and then ” the kind-hearted man could not go 

on for smiles. 

“ They are going to have a free pardon,” added 
Starkowski ; “ are you sure ? ” 

“ I have got it in my desk, which is more, and I 
am highly delighted for once that the law should be 
circumvented. Of course, the line will be drawn 
between the instigators of these precious plans and 
those who were merely led on. There is Mr. 
Wenceslas Hajek, for instance, whom we shall have 
the honour of lodging in safe quarters within this 
city for a couple of years — I’d give him five, wil- 
lingly — and no expense to himself. Come in ! ” 

There had been a knock at the door repeatedly, 
but the gentlemen had not heard it in the warmth 
of their discussion till it struck the governor at the 
tail end of his information. “ Come in ! ” 

The door opened showing a tall visitor, who stood 
still. 


23 * 


514 


FOE THE EIGHT. 


“ A peasant by the look of him,” said the governor, 
peering into the dusk. “ This is beyond office hours, 
my friend ; come again to-morrow.” 

There was a pause of silence, and then the 
man by the door came a step forward, saying, with 
trembling voice, “ Excuse me, sirs, for disturbing 
you, hut I would rather not go away again ” 

“ Taras ! ” exclaimed the lawyer, and the governor, 
bursting from his seat, stood still a moment, para- 
lysed with the discovery ; but then he flew to the 
window, flinging open the sash, and sent one terrified 
cry after another into the street below. 

Taras never moved. “ Do not be frightened,” he 
said, sadly. “Look here, I am quite unarmed, and 
have come with peaceful intentions.” 

But the sentry outside and some of the clerks yet 
at work had heard the alarm ; assistance already was 
pressing in at the door. 

“Bind him!” cried the governor. And, nothing 
loth, the men clutched the prisoner. 

But Starkowski interfered. “ Stop ! ” he said. 
“You are five against one, and you see he offers no 
resistance.” He walked up to Taras and looked 
him in the face. “ You have not come with any 
evil intention ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

Starkowski seemed quite satisfied ; turning to the 
governor, “ Leave your men in the room,” he said, 
“hut there is no need to bind him, I’ll go bail.” 

But the poor governor was not so easily quieted, 
and his voice positively shook when he addressed 
the man of whom all the district had stood in 
mortal fear these months past. “ Step closer,” he 
said, “ we are ready to hear you.” 

And Taras came nearer, looking pale and wan, a 
stricken figure, resting his worn frame against the 
table. " I have come to give myself up,” he said, 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 515 

“ and I pray to be dealt with according to my 
deserts.” 

“ And where are your people ? ” # 

“ I have disbanded them ; there is no fear of their 
committing further violence.” 

“ Where are they ? ” 

“ They have gone different ways ; but I have not 
come to betray them, and shall not do so. Con- 
cerning myself I will answer any question, and that 
must suffice. But before interrogating me, please 
have a clerk here to write it all down, for I should 
like those at Vienna to have the truth in my own 
words. I would especially wish the Emperor to know 
it, and his kind uncle, Ludwig.” 

The governor was going to retort sharply, but 
he restrained himself; the man after all had not 
desired anything improper. But the shock had been 
too great to enable him to open proceedings on 
the spot. “ You will be interrogated to-morrow 
morning,” he said, “and, whatever your misdeeds, 
it shall be set over against them that you have given 
yourself up of your own free will. I will not have 
you put in irons, and no one shall dare to insult 
you ; but I shall have you well guarded.” 

“ Do whatever the law requires,” replied Taras. 
“ But there is no fear of my escaping again, even if 
never a door were locked upon me. It is my 
conscience which brought me hither, and it will 
keep me here. Indeed, if any one attempted to set 
me free against my will, I should oppose him as an 
enemy.” 

The governor had nothing more to say, beyond 
ordering the prisoner’s removal to the city gaol. 
But Taras looked at him. “ There is yet one 
thing,” and his voice quivered; “may I speak to 
this gentleman — it is something I have deeply at 
heart.” 


516 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


The governor nodded assent, and Starkowski 
went up to the prisoner. “ Ah, sir,” said Taras, “ I 
pray you nojt to believe that after all I turned a 
robber and murderer ! I daresay you heard 
that I have had Zukowski killed, the poor old baron 
at Borsowka. I have ; but I have been grievously 
deceived by evil men, on whose honesty I relied. 
I was fully persuaded I had judged righteously in 
this case also. I appeal to you — you know that I 
never yet told a lie — w 7 ill you believe me ? ” 

“ I will — I do,” said the lawyer, holding out his 
hand. 

But Taras did not take it, there was a strange 
agitation in his face, he shook, and before the lawyer 
could prevent it, he had fallen on his knees, covering 
Starkowski ’s hand with kisses and tears. “ Ah, 
sir,” he sobbed, “this is the most merciful word 
you have spoken in your life ! ” 

He rose and followed his keepers. 

An hour later special messengers were speeding in 
all directions to announce to the magistrates and 
military authorities that the great trouble was at an 
end, that the avenger was in safe keeping of his own 
free will. At Colomea itself the new 7 s was flying 
from house to house, being received everywhere 
with exultant satisfaction. Two men only, whose 
interest in Taras’s fate, because a personal one, was 
of the liveliest, were rather aghast at the news, 
calling their mortal enemy a fool for his pains, 
because he had put his head into the noose. 

One of these worthies was Mr. Ladislas Ka- 
pronski, who had been obliged after all to return 
from Lemberg, not of his own choice, but because 
of the importunity of his immediate superiors, 
which left but two ways open to him, either to 
accept their pressing invitation or to quit the 
service. So he had arrived, hoping to escape with 


FA YJLNOr THE PEN ALT Y< 


517 


a sharp reproof ; but the very first meeting of the 
Board showed he was not likely to be dealt with in 
a spirit of leniency, the district governor being 
especially vicious in the virtuous Kapronski’s 
opinion. Nevertheless, he clung to his hope, giving 
the lie unblushingly to all accusations, since the 
one witness to be dreaded, even Taras, could not so 
easily be confronted with him ; and who else should 
know whether he had perverted his message or not ? 
So he carried his head high, and his collapse was 
sad to behold when, at a late hour that evening, the 
news reached him, “ Taras is in safe keeping ! ” He 
jumped from his seat as though an adder had stung 
him ; but, alas ! there was no use in his rushing 
abroad to inquire whether it could really be true, 
since the strange rudeness — or, perhaps, deafness 
only — of his closer acquaintances had appeared 
of late to affect most people at Colomea, and now 
Kapronski in addressing any honest citizen could 
never be sure of a hearing ! So he did not go forth 
from his chamber, but fell to chewing the bitter 
cud of retribution, listening intently for what 
terrible affirmation might come flying in to him 
through his open windows from the excited streets. 
The news plainly was a fact ! 

But if his cogitations were misery, what then 
must be said of that other one who deprecated 
Taras’s act of surrender, Mr. Wenceslas Hajek, 
the ex-mandatar of Zulawce? This gentleman 
quite lately, at the invitation of two constables, had 
exchanged his princely residence at the castle of 
Drinkowce for the more modest abode of a prison 
cell, and this quite in spite of — or, in fact, rather 
because of — his sudden desire for a change of air in 
distant parts. It had transpired that he was 
quietly off to Paris. He had been admitted to bail, 
when proceedings were commenced against him on 


518 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


account of the discovered perjury, and the constables 
caught him in the very act of strapping his travelling 
bag. He was naturally annoyed at being thus over- 
reached; but the virtuous Wanda, who had not 
intended to accompany him on his travels, most 
heroically witnessed his discomfiture, watching his 
being carried off with truly stoical calmness — she 
might even have been a Spartan matron ! “ Good 

riddance,” she said quietly, “ if they would but keep 
you in prison ; it’s the one place for 3 7 ou ! ” Where- 
upon he, gathering together the shreds of masculine 
courage, retorted : “Hell itself would be delightful 
if I had a chance of going thither without you! ” 
from which amiable passage of arms the reader may 
infer that this marriage, founded on a love just 
about equalled by the mutual respect of the con- 
tracting couple, had turned out as happily as might 
have been foreseen, the actual result being that 
Herr Bogdan von Antoniewicz even now was taking 
measures to bring his daughter’s case into the 
divorce court. But Mr. Hajek, who, it will be 
remembered, had prepared against such a con- 
tingency, felt no sorrows on this head ; and indeed a 
husband blessed with a wife of the Countess Wanda’s 
description might be tolerably certain that any 
inquiry into her character would bring to light 
ample mitigation of any blots in his. But if his 
domestic concerns sat easy on him, all the greater 
was his anxiety concerning that other trial, since 
there was no saying where a close inquiry might 
not land him, especially as his under-steward, 
Boleslaw Stipinski, had been so very foolish as to 
allow himself to be caught. Still, while Boleslaw 
had a tongue left wherewith to deny all charges as 
unblushingly as Hajek himself, the mandatar need 
not give himself up for lost — not while the only man 
who could witness to most of his crimes was far away, 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


519 


and not likely to be got hold of. What, then, must 
have been the feelings of the brazen-faced prisoner 
that evening when a call from the echoing corridor 
resounded in his cell, and he understood the words : 
“ Look sharp, boys, they are bringing the avenger ! ” 
It was the chief warder calling upon his fellow 
gaolers. There was a running to and fro and a 
confusion of voices, followed presently by the usual 
silence of the place. And when the death-like still- 
ness had again settled down the wretched man tried 
to persuade himself that he had been dreaming ; but 
the early morning dispelled this delusion, his inquiry 
eliciting a gruff reply from the warder going his 
rounds. “ Taras ? Yes, he is on this very floor, 
more’s the pity you cannot communicate with him,” 
said the surly attendant, never perceiving the irony 
of his speech. 

Early in the forenoon the new prisoner was brought 
to his preliminary examination, Herr von Bauer 
conducting it in person ; and in accordance with 
his stated intention Taras yielded the fullest infor- 
mation concerning himself and his late doings, but 
refused persistently whatever might tend to incri- 
minate his followers. He readily mentioned those 
who had led him into the murder at Borsowka ; but 
not a fact, not a name besides, was to be got out of 
him. Nor could he be brought to give the slightest 
clue towards inculpating such of the peasants as 
had assisted his work by their contributions for the 
maintenance of his men. “ They have aided and 
abetted a criminal course,” he said ; “ but they did it 
with the best of intentions for the love of their 
suffering neighbours, and believing it to be the will 
of God.” 

“ It might be better for you to give their names,” 
said the governor,’ not unkindly, “ for if you do not, 
how is it to be proved that you are speaking the 


520 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


truth? These contributions might he a myth, and 
you be taken for a common bandit after all, who com- 
mitted murder for the sake of gain. Are you pre- 
pared to face this?” 

“ If the Almighty will thus punish me, I shall bear 
it,” said he, sadly. “He knows I have spoken 
the truth.” 

The trial concluded with those questions laid as a 
duty upon the judge, even with the worst of 
criminals, ever since the great Empress left her 
womanly influence upon the Austrian law. “ Do you 
desire spiritual assistance?” inquired the governor. 

“ Not now,” said Taras ; “ I need no one to come 
between me and the Almighty. When death is at 
hand I will thankfully receive the holy sacrament, 
and I would ask you then to send for the parish 
priest of Zulawce, Father Leo, who on Palm 
Sunday gave me his promise to come to me when- 
ever I should need him. He will do so.” 

“ And have you any message to be transmitted to 
your wife ? ” 

The extreme pallor of his face yielded to a flush 
which rose to the very roots of his hair.. “ No,” he 
said faintly. “ My wife was right in saying I had 
forfeited my claims on her and the children. It 
were sheer goodness and mercy on her part to 
remember me now. But since it is so, I must not 
ask for it ; I can only wait.” 

But waiting for the prompting of her love seemed 
vain. Throughout the dreary time of the legal pro- 
ceedings, which lasted nearly four months, neither 
the pope nor Anusia visited the prisoner. The only 
human being who during all this sad time requested 
permission for occasional intercourse with the 
accused was Dr. Starkowski, who could not visit 
him in his capacity as legal defender till after 
the protracted inquiry, but prayed to be admitted 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


521 


as a friend. And he was allowed to see the prisoner 
occasionally in the presence of the chief warder, 
finding the unhappy man, for whom he had a true- 
hearted sympathy, strangely quiet. “ I have nothing 
to complain of,” Taras would say; “I could not 
have expected anything else. And, calling to mind 
the terrible hour when that girl in her agony of 
remorse confessed to me how I had been deceived, 
this present time seems happiness in comparison. 
I am bearing the just punishment for my deeds 
even on this side of the grave — it is all I must ask for 
at the hand of man.” 

“All? ” repeated the lawyer, with a peculiar stress 
on the word, and it seemed to him a very duty of 
Christian charity to offer to the unhappy man his 
willingness to plead with Anusia. “ It will be no 
trouble,” he added, rather awkwardly ; “ I have busi- 
ness at Ztilawce, and might as well go and see her.” 

“ I pray you not to do so,” said Taras, earnestly. 
“ It would be a bitter trial to her to have to speak 
about me to a stranger, and I have brought on her 
so much suffering already that it is not for me to 
add to it.” 

Starkowski nevertheless endeavoured to mediate, 
but in vain. Father Leo himself dissuaded him 
from his well-meant purpose. “ Believe me, sir,” 
said the honest priest, sadly, “ there is nothing to 
be done. If human pleading availed anything, my 
entreaty would have done so ! But no prayer and 
no exhortation will bend the iron purpose of that 
woman. This is the reason why I have refrained 
hitherto from going to Colomea : I have not the heart 
to meet him with no better news than this.” 

“Well, perhaps a stranger may be more success- 
ful,” said Starkowski, and went over to Taras’s 
farm. But he was met in the yard by Halko, with 
a message from his mistress. She did not desire to 


522 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


see him, the young man said wistfully, unless he 
were sent on business of the trial. 

Towards the close of January, 1840, the inquiry 
was concluded; but, after all, not much more had 
come to light than had been known with more 
or less of exactness before. And if, on the one 
hand, it was beyond a doubt that Taras was guilty 
of the death of a great number of men, having 
brought loss and suffering to others, so also it proved 
a matter of certainty that in every case he had 
granted to the victim a kind of judicial inquiry, 
punishing them upon conviction. Also there was a 
considerable amount of actual evidence in his favour, 
Baron Zborowski, of Hankowce, especially doing his 
utmost in his behalf. On the whole a fairly 
just estimate of the man’s activity during those 
seven months of the reign of terror in the land had 
been arrived at, but not a clue had been obtained 
concerning his fellows and helpers, who appeared 
simply to have vanished. One of his late followers 
only was caught — Karol Wygoda, whose where- 
abouts Taras himself had suggested. This wretch 
denied the charge persistently, until confronted with 
his former hetman, a look of whose eye sufficed to 
crush the man, whereupon he made a full confession, 
including the crime he had instigated at Borsowka. 

But not only in this case was it apparent that 
Taras had in no w r ise lost his strange power over men ; 
none of the perjured witnesses of Zulawce could 
hold out against him at the bar. But the most 
flagrant proof of the awe he still inspired, perhaps, 
was this, that Mr. Hajek, on the mere announce- 
ment of the governor’s “ I shall confront you with 
Taras to-morrow,” fainted outright, and upon 
recovering his senses declared himself ready to con- 
fess on the spot. No doubt he acted from the con- 
sciousness that conviction was unavoidable, and 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


523 


that it would be useless to harass his feelings by so 
painful an interview. 

Kapronski, on the contrary, felt that all his future 
career depended on the ordeal of a meeting with 
Taras, and, fortifying his flunkey spirit with this 
consideration, he tried hard to strike terror into the 
soul of the convicted bandit ; but he collapsed 
woefully, and blow upon blow the righteous wrath 
of Taras came down upon his head. It was a 
strange sight these two — the one covered with the 
blood of his fellows, the other legally guilty at worst ol 
a breach of discipline — but no one could doubt for a 
moment which of them was the nobler and better 
man. 

On the last day of the inquiry the governor put 
the question to Taras who should be his advocate. 

“ Ah ! ” said Taras, “ am I permitted to choose ? 
I would have Dr. Starkowski in that case, for he 
will do his best for me.” 

“ Certainly,” replied the governor, continuing 
with some surprise ; “ have not you assured me 
again and again you had done with life ? Yet you 
seem to rest confidence in the success of your 
advocate.” 

“ Oh,” returned Taras, “ I never doubted the 
justice of my having to die ; that is settled, and I 
would not have him or any one else endeavour to 
get me off. But there is another important matter 
in which I sorely need counsel.” 

What this might be Starkow T ski learned on his 
first professional visit to the prisoner. “ They will 
not believe me,” said Taras sadly ; “ they doubt the 
truth of my having maintained the band honestly, 
partly out of my own means, partly with the free- 
will contributions of well-meaning folks. And yet 
I cannot name any of those who helped me, for 
tear of their having to suffer for it. Is there no 


524 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


help, but that the suspicion must rest on me and 
mine, that I committed murder for vulgar gain’s 
sake?” 

The lawyer endeavoured to comfort him, saying 
he hoped to dispel this charge, proving it at variance 
with the character of his client, which was plainly 
apparent in the evidence. “ But let us speak of 
something else now,” he added, “ which is more 
important — your own fate.” 

“ Why, that is settled,” replied Taras, quietly ; 
“I have shed blood and must atone for it with my 
own. Please do not try to overthrow that ! ” 

“ Now, listen to me,” said the lawyer, “ there is 
such a thing as common sense. You have given 
yourself up of your own free will to satisfy justice ; 
this is enough for your conscience, and it would 
be simply wicked in you to clamour to be 
hanged. Try to judge calmly in this respect. 
Looking at facts, of course I cannot doubt that 
the jury will find you guilty, because the law must 
have its course, but I have hopes that the Emperor 
may pardon you. There are strong reasons for a re- 
commendation to mercy. Moreover, it is plain that 
the old Archduke Ludwig is interested in you, and 
he will not fail to plead in your favour.” 

“Will you listen to me now? ” said Taras, quietly, 
when his counsel had finished. “ I can have no „ 
other wish in this matter than to see that carried out 
which I have been striving for all my life — that is 
justice; and a sentence of death alone would be just ! I 
can not prevent the Emperor pardoning me if he is so 
minded, but I will not have you petition him in 
my name. There is one favour only I would ask, 
if it comes to the dying . . . ” he paused, a 

shudder running through his frame. 

“ I know,” said the lawyer, deeply affected, “you 
would lik’e to be shot and not hung. Father Leo 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


525 


told me ; old Jemilian came to him once secretly 
for confession . . . Take comfort, I think I can 

promise you that much, if indeed it must come to 
the worst.” 

Towards the end of February, Taras was sentenced 
to death — “to be hung by the neck” — there could not 
have been any other verdict. But he was informed 
at the same time that the parishes of Ridowa and 
Zulawce, as well as Baron Zborowski, had petitioned 
the Emperor for mercy. 

That same day Starkowski addressed a letter to 
Father Leo, acquainting him also with the sentence, 
and imploring him once again to try his influence 
with Anusia. The pope was deeply grieved. 
“ Alas,” he said to his wife, “ even this news will not 
move the woman, and what else could I tell her? 
Havel not striven with her to the utmost ? ” 

“ You must try yet again,” said the good little 
popadja ; “ it is the most sacred duty in all this life 
of yours.” 

“I am sure of that,” he said, sorrowfully; “ and 
my heart bleeds at the thought that once more I 
must plead in vain for her poor husband ! I am truly 
sorry for Anusia herself, and shall never cease be- 
friending her, but this hard-heartedness, this horrible 
power of vindictiveness in a woman fills me with 
loathing.” 

With a heavy heart he set out on his mission, 
finding Anusia in her sitting-room, her eldest boy, 
Wassilj, at her feet, reading to her with a clear 
voice from some book of spiritual comfort. On be- 
holding her visitor, she gave a nod and ordered the 
little boy to leave them alone, but the child hesi- 
tated, obeying her repeated command reluctantly. 
She rose and went up to the pope with the icy 
quiet which had grown habitual with her ; but her 
face was fearfully worn, and she looked quite an old 


526 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


woman now. There was scarcely a tremor in her 
voice. “I know what you have come for/* she 
said. “ He has been sentenced to death.” 

“ Yes,” he replied. “ But if ever ” 

“ Stop ! ” she interrupted ; “ would you have me 

and the children be present at ” 

“ Anusia ! ” he cried; “it is awful — fearful; do 
you know that your life-long repentance will never 
atone for this cruelty of heart ? ” 

“ Is that what you think ? ” she said, hoarsely; 
“ and do you know how I loved him ? do you know 

the depth of my suffering ? God knows ” 

“ Do not call on Him,” cried the pope, pas- 
sionately ; “ He is holy and pitiful, and has 

nothing in common with the hardness of men.” 

“Priest,” she said, confronting him wildly; “how 
dare you come between Him and me ? His under- 
standing me is the one hope which keeps me from 

madness ” and a cry burst from her; she fell 

at his feet, clinging to his knees, moaning : “Ah, 
turn not away from me ! Try and consider the 
agony of my heart ! ” 

He lifted her gently, making her sit down on a 
chair. “ I do consider it,” he said ; “ and I have 
borne this sorrow with you throughout. But do 
not think you can lessen it by being unforgiving 
and hard. . . . Come with me and see him,” 

he added, folding his hands with his heart’s 
entreaty ; “ it is his dying wish, will you not grant 
it ? I will not plead his right to look for his wife 
and children.” 

“ No, certainly,” she interrupted him, and he 
shuddered at the cold denial glistening in her eyes ; 
“ he gave up his rights when he left us with 
no better excuse than his mad longing to obtain 
justice for any stranger. He could not have com- 
plained of me if I had told him as early as Palm 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


527 


Sunday, * I cannot prevent your going, but you cease 
to be my husband.’ I did not say that, I did not 
upbraid him, but I knelt to him and wept at his 
feet. He saw the agony of my soul, and went his 
way. I did not cease loving him, I only strove to 
save the children from his ruin. He would not have 
hesitated to make me the recipient of his plans, the 
go-between transmitting his messages to the village. 
He only thought of his work, never of what might 
come to us ! And when we were taken to prison 
for his sake, he only said, * And though they kill 
them I must go on with this cause ! ’ Can a hus- 
band, a father, nay, a human being act thus ? And 
when we were set free, and you and I went to see 
him, to entreat him to forego this life of bloodshed 
and murder lest his wife and children should have 
to bear the last fearful disgrace, did he listen to us ? 
* I cannot help it, I must go on,’ he said. And 
neither can I help it now,” she added, with a 
bitter moan ; “ he has brought me to it, and must bear 
the consequences!” 

“ And do you think this will help you to bear it ? ” 
said the pope. “ Can it in any way lessen your 
sorrow ?” 

“No ! ” she cried; “ but it is just ! just ! I am 
treating him as he treated me ! ” 

“And is it justice you look for from your 
Saviour?” said he; “ is it your deserts you will 
plead when you hope for His mercy in that day? ” 
He paused solemnly, but once again he strove with 
her entreatingly, pleading for love and for pity. She 
moved not, and he could not see her face, for she had 
covered it with her hands ; but when a sob burst 
from her ice-bound heart, and the tears welled 
through her fingers, hope rose within him, and, 
continuing to speak to her gently, he lifted his soul 
to God that the words might be given him which 


528 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


could touch her and carry light into the darkness of 
her fearful despair. 

Neither of them heard the door open, both 
Starting when suddenly the voice of little WassiJj 
was heard sobbing amid his tears. “ Let me help 
you, Father Leo,” faltered the child, “mother will 
listen to us, surely. And if she will not go with 
you, take me, please, for I love father dearly ! ” 

At these words an agonised cry burst from the 
woman’s heart ; she caught up the boy and covered 
him with tears and kisses, crying: “I will go — I 
will go ! ” 

Two days later Starkowski, with a flush on his 
face, entered the convict’s cell. “ Taras,” he cried, 
“I am glad to tell you — your wife ” 

“ Is she coming? ” faltered Taras. “ 0 God, is it 
possible? ” 

He had risen, but staggered back to his chair — it 
was too much for him. Starkowski left him 
quietly ; in his stead Anusia had entered the cell. 

And husband and wife once more stood clasped 
to each other’s heart. 

The governor allowed Anusia to spend many 
hours with the prisoner. They spoke of the past, 
of the children’s future, of the village, and every- 
thing they had in common — one subject only they 
both avoided, the ghastly event which soon would 
separate them for this life. Taras took leave of 
her and the children every evening as tenderly as 
though it were the eve of his final doom, but he 
never referred to it, and Anusia in her secret heart 
took it as a sign that after all he hoped for a 
pardon. 

On the 15th of May, 1840, the decision arrived 
from Vienna. The Emperor had confirmed the 
sentence ; a pardon could not be granted because 
“the notoriety of the case required the law to have 


PAYING THE PENALTY. 


529 


its course.” But it was left with the district governor 
to make all further arrangements and decide the 
mode of execution. 

It so happened that Father Leo was with the 
governor early in the day when the decree arrived ; 
he had come to beg for an interview with the 
convict, and Dr. Starkowski having been sent for, 
the three entered the cell together. Taras knew 
at once what they had come for, his face grew 
white, but he could stand erect, requiring no 
support, while the sentence was being imparted to 
him. 

“ You will be shot to-morrow morning,” said the 
district governor. “ Father Leo will go with you. 
Your execution shall not be a spectacle for the 
curious, for which reason I have fixed an early hour, 
and chosen a place at some distance — a quiet glen 
on the way to Zablotow, where a deserter was 
shot some time ago. None but myself and another 
magistrate will be present, and the fact will be 
kept secret to-day. Would you desire your wife 
to accompany you ? ” 

“ No,” said Taras, “ and I pray you not to tell her 
anything. We have settled everything, and I shall 
take leave of her and the children this evening just 
in the usual way, as though we were to meet again 
to-morrow. I think this will be the best course for 
her.” 

And he carried out this pious deception with a 
wondrous strength of purpose, passing the day in 
quiet intercourse with her and their children. When 
she had left in the evening, utterly unconscious of 
the final parting, he was removed to another cell, 
lit up and provided with altar and crucifix, to spend 
his last night in the customary way. Father 
Leo took his confession, Taras’s voice being low 
and earnest, but he was very calm ; and having 

23 


530 


FOR THE RIGHT. 


received absolution and the sacrament at the hands 
of his friend, he passed the rest of the night in 
silent prayer. 

At daybreak the following morning, when the 
town yet lay buried in sleep, three carriages drove 
away in the direction of Zablotow, the governor and 
a brother magistrate occupying the first, the 
condemned man, Father Leo, and a couple of 
soldiers the second, some more soldiers in the 
third bringing up the rear. 

It was a perfect morning of spring. Taras drew 
deep breaths of the fragrant air, and his eye rested 
on the blossoming fruit-trees by the way. “ God is 
kind to me,” he said, turning to the pope, “ letting 
His sun rise brightly on my dying hour.” 

“ Yes, God is good,” said the pope, “ He is always 
kinder than men. . .” The poor priest spoke his 
inmost feeling, but he regretted it almost imme- 
diately — was it for him to drop bitterness into the 
heart of the dying man ? 

But Taras only shook his head. “It is your 
grief for me which makes you unjust, Father Leo,” 
he said, quietly. “I have thought deeply these 
last days, and I see there is much to be thankful 
for ! I may be at rest, too, concerning my poor wife ; 
and as for my children, I am certain you and 
Anusia will bring them up rightly, and they will 
live to be good.” 

“ I will not fail in my duty by them ; I shall look 
upon it as a holy vow,” said the pope solemnly. 
And he kept it faithfully. The children of Taras 
are alive to this day, honoured and loved by their 
neighbours, richly blessed, too, in outward circum- 
stances ; and Wassilj Barabola would long ago have 
been made judge of his village had he not declined 
the distinction, remembering the promise he gave 
to his father. 


PAYING- THE PENALTY. 


531 


“ And even as regards myself ! ” said Taras. 
“ All my life long I have endeavoured to further the 
Right and promote justice, and if I have done 
grievous wrong myself, yet I have not failed 
entirely. But for this strife of mine, oppression 
would be more rampant than it is now ; my own 
parish would not have received back the field of 
which we were defrauded, and the wicked 
mandatar would not have been replaced by a 
man who means well by the peasants. So you see, 
dear friend, the grace of God has been with me 
after all ! I have not lived in vain ; as for my 
evil deeds, I now pay the penalty, as is right and 
meet. Why should I complain ! ” 

“ Oh, Taras ! ” cried Leo, “ what a heart was 
yours, and to come to such an end ! ” 

“ Nay,” said Taras, “ I am poor and sinful, and 
my pride was great ; yet I always longed for the 
Right, and to see it done was my heart’s desire. 
The Judge of men, I trust, will be merciful to me.” 

“Amen!” said Leo, with stifled voice, and he 
began to say the prayers, Taras repeating the words 
after him fervently. They reached the glen. The 
sentence was read, and the priest resumed prayers. 

Taras stood up. The soldiers fired, and he was 
struck to the heart. He lay still in death, and his 
face bore an expression of deep content. 

They buried him where he fell. There is no cross 
to show his grave, hut the place to this day is 
known to the people as “ the Glen of Taras.” 


THE END. 








































# 




. 














. 



















BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST 


By Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 652. ISmo, 
Oloth, $1 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — JY. Y. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident ; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — N. Y. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“ Ben-Hur ” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile »t evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner, N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Boston Journal. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Kg- fha above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


23 * 


BOOTS AND SADDLES; 

Or, Life in Dakota with General Custer. By Mrs. Eliz- 
abeth B. Custer. With Portrait of General Custer, 
pp. 312. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

A book of adventure is interesting reading, especially when it is all true, 
as is the case with “ Boots and Saddles.” * * * She does not obtrude the 
fact that sunshine and solace went with her to tent and fort, but it in- 
heres in her narrative none the less, and as a consequence “ these simple 
annals of our daily life,” as she calls them, are never dull nor uninterest- 
ing. — Evangelist , N. Y. 

Mrs. Custer’s book is in reality a bright and sunny sketch of the life 
of her late husband, who fell at the battle of “ Little Big Horn.” * * * 
After the war, when General Custer was sent to the Indian frontier, his 
wife was of the party, and she is able to give the minute story of her 
husband’s varied career, since she was almost always near the scene of 
his adventures. — Brooklyn Union. 

We have no hesitation in saying that no better or more satisfactory life 
of General Custer could have been written. Indeed, we may as well 
speak the thought that is in us, and say plainly that we know of no bio- 
graphical work anywhere which we count better than this. * * * Surely the 
record of such experiences as these will be read with that keen interest 
which attaches only to strenuous human doings ; as surely we are right 
in saying that such a story of truth and heroism as that here told will 
take a deeper hold upon the popular mind and heart than any work of 
fiction can. For the rest, the narrative is as vivacious and as lightly and 
trippingly given as that of any novel. It is enriched in every chapter with 
illustrative anecdotes and incidents, and here and there a little life story 
of pathetic interest is told as an episode. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

It is a plain, straightforward story of the author’s life on the plains of 
Dakota. Every member of a Western garrison will want to read this 
book ; every person in the East who is interested in Western life will 
want to read it, too ; and every boy or girl who has a healthy appetite 
for adventure will be sure to get it. It is bound to have an army of read- 
ers that few authors can expect. — Philadelphia Press. 

These annals of daily life in the army are simple, yet interesting, and 
underneath all is discerned the love of a true woman ready for any sacri- 
fice. She touches on themes little canvassed by the civilian, and makes a 
volume equally redolent of a loving devotion to an honored husband, and 
attractive as a picture of necessary duty by the soldier. — Commonwealth , 
Boston. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, N. Y. 

Harper A Brothers will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


THE BREAD-WINNERS 

A Social Study. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 


One of the strongest and most striking stories of the last ten years. . . . 
The work of a very clever man ; it is told with many lively strokes of hu- 
mor ; it sparkles with epigram ; it is brilliant with wit. . . . The chief 
characters in it are actually alive ; they are really flesh and blood ; they 
are at once true and new ; and they are emphatically and aggressively 
American. The anonymous author has a firm grip on American character. 
He has seen, and he has succeeded in making us see, facts and phases of 
American life which no one has put into a book before. . . . Interesting, 
earnest, sincere ; fine in its performance, and finer still in its promise. — 
Saturday Review , London. 

A worthy contribution to that American novel-literature which is at the 
present day, on the whole, ahead of our own. — Pall Mall Gazette, London. 

Praise, and unstinted praise, should be given to “ The Bread-Winners.” 
— N. Y. Times. 

It is a novel with a plot, rounded and distinct, upon which every episode 
has a direct bearing. . . . The book is one to stand nobly the test of im- 
mediate re-reading. — Critic , N. Y. 

It is a truly remarkable book. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

As a vigorous, virile, well-told American story, it is long since we have 
had anything as good as “ The Bread-Winners.” — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

Every page of the book shows the practised hand of a writer to whom 
long use has made exact literary expression as easy and spontaneous as 
the conversation of some of those gifted talkers who are at once the 
delight and the envy of their associates. ... We might mention many 
• scenes which seem to us particularly strong, but if we began such a 
catalogue we should not know where to stop. — N. Y. Tribune. 

Within comparatively few pages a story which, as a whole, deserves to 
be called vigorous, is tersely told. . . . The author’s ability to depict the 
mental and moral struggles of those who are poor, and who believe them- 
selves oppressed, is also evident in his management of the strike and in 
his delineation of the characters of Sam Sleeny, a carpenter’s journeyman, 
and Ananias Offit, the villain of the story. . . . The characters who bring 
into play and work out the author’s ideas are all well drawn, and their in- 
dividuality maintained and developed with a distinctness that shows inti- 
mate familiarity with the subject, as well as unquestionable ability in deal- 
ing with it. — N. Y. Evening Telegram. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Ur Harpkr & Brothkrs will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid , to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


“AS WE WENT MARCHING ON.” 


A Story of the War. By G. W. Hosmer, M.D. pp. 310. 
16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

A skilful blending of plot with descriptions of active operations in the 
field. An attractive book. — W. Y. Sun. 

It seems to be all true excepting, perhaps, the names of the heroes and 
heroines. The author’s battle sketches are good, his characters natural, 
and his conversations neatly managed. — JY. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

A vivid, somewhat exciting story, in which the experiences of army life 
are told in a way that makes them sound like the author’s own, and in 
which the narrative is conducted by Mars and Cupid alternately. — Phila- 
delphia Inquirer. 

This is really a fine story, in which marching and fighting and love are 
blended, yet one never interferes with the other. ... Of the picturesque- 
ness of camp life, the rude comfort of the bivouac, the hardships of the 
march, there is not in all the war history with which we are acquainted 
any such forceful description as in this little volume. — Rochester Herald. 

Interesting, both as a novel and as a description of the actual life of the 
soldier — the discomforts of rainy nights, muddy roads, and a hungry 
bivouac in a country filled with foes. . . . The various military incidents — 
the night marches, the annihilation of infantry surprised by calvary, the 
gathering roar and surging tide of a great battle — are given with the en- 
thralling energy peculiar to the eye-witness. — Commet'dal Bulletin , Boston. 

A well-told soldier’s romance, commencing in the Blue Ridge wilderness 
of Virginia about the time of Pope’s disastrous campaign, and ending with 
Sheridan’s ride up the valley and converting defeat into victory at Fisher 
Hill. ... A war story superior to any with which we are acquainted. It is 
admirable as to plot and characters, as to the picturesque and effective 
background of military life, and as to its pure, graceful, and vigorous t 
English. — Pittsburgh Post. 

Dr. Hosmer has written a spirited story that will interest old campaign- 
ers on both sides of the rebellion conflict. The clash and roar of battle 
are distinctly heard in some of his chapters. A good story for the home 
camp-fire. — Troy Press. 

This is a well-written and interesting story, in which domestic incidents 
and home affections blend with the roar of battle and the taking of pris- 
oners. The writer shows considerable knowledge of the actions and posi- 
tions on both sides in Virginia, where the scene is laid. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

A well-told, interesting story, with just enough of war, deoeit, and love 
in it to be heartily enjoyable. — Hartford Post. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

0T Harper & Brothers will send the above work by mail, postage prepaid , to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


AT THE RED GLOVE. 

A Novel. Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart, pp. 246. 
12mo, Extra Cloth, $1 50. 


We have tried to express our admiration of the brilliant talents which 
the “ Red Glove ” displays — the accurate knowledge shown of localities ; 
the characteristics of the surrounding population, and the instinctive read- 
ing of the inner selves of the various personages who figure in the story. . . . 
A charming idyl. — N. Y. Mail and Express. 

The execution is admirable. . . . The characters are the clearest studies, 
and are typical of a certain phase of French life. . . . The story is fanciful, 
graceful, and piquant, and Reinhart’s illustrations add to its flavor. — Bos- 
ton Journal. 

The peculiar vivacity of the French style is blended with a subtle char- 
acter-analysis that is one of the best things in that line that has been pro- 
duced for a long time. It is one of the most brilliant pieces of literary 
work that has appeared for years, and the interest is sustained almost 
breathlessly. — Boston Evening Traveller. 

The authoress of “ At the Red Glove ” knows how to paint a flesh-and- 
blood woman, grateful to all the senses, and respectable for the qualities 
of her mind and heart. . . . All in all, “ At the Red Glove ” is one of the 
most delightful of novels since Miss Woolson wrote “For the Major.” — 
N. Y. Times. 

The novel is one of the best things of the summer as a delicious bit of 
entertainment, prepared with perfect art and presented without a sign of 
effort. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

It is an artistic and agreeable reproduction, in bright colors, of French 
sentiment and feeling. ... It is an abiding relief to read it, after such 
studies as novels in this country fashionably impose. — Boston Globe. 

A charming little story. . . . The characters are well drawn, with fresh- 
ness and with adequacy of treatment, and the style is crisp and ofttimes 
trenchant. — Boston Advertiser. 

A very pretty story, simply and exquisitely told. . . . The ups and downs 
of the courtship are drawn with a master’s hand. — Cincinnati Inquirer. 

There has been no such pleasant novel of Swiss social life as this. . . . 
The book is one that tourists and summer idlers will do well to add to 
their travelling libraries for the season. — Philadelphia Bulletin. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

KSf The above work sent by mail , postage prepaid , to any part of the United States 
or Canada , on receipt of the price. 


FROM THE FORECASTLE TO THE CABIN. 



Captain S. Samuels. Illustrated, pp. xviii., 308. 
12mo, Extra Cloth, $1 50. 


“ The record of a life of stirring adventure. Captain Samuels began 
his career by running away to sea at the age of eleven years as a cabin- 
boy ; at twenty-one he was captain of a fine ship, and he retired from 
the active pursuit of his profession when commander of the famous clip- 
per Dreadnought. He tells his experiences in tempests and mutinies, in 
fights with pirates and street ruffians, in romantic escapades, in collisions, 
and in battles with cannibals. As a yachting commander, Captain Sam- 
uels sailed the Henrietta , which won the ocean sweepstakes in 1866, and 
he commanded the Dauntless in her race with the Coronet .” 


“ Captain Samuels has given me the privilege of reading the proof-sheets 
of the following pages, and has asked me to introduce him to the public. 
I cannot conceive of a more unnecessary ceremony. ‘ Good wine needs no 
bush,’ and ‘ From the Forecastle to the Cabin ’ has not a dull line in it. 
The art of telling a story is, after all, as an Irishman would say, a gift, 
and Captain Samuels certainly has that gift. I read to some friends of 
not uncritical disposition the tale to be found in chapters twelve and thir- 
teen, and they paid it the rare compliment of asking to hear it again the 
next evening. In fact, a volume crowded with so much and such various 
incidents, graphically told, could not fail to be interesting.” — Bishop Pot- 
ter’s Introductory Note. 

A vivid picture of life on shipboard, and a stirring narrative of personal 
experience. . . . Bishop Potter well says that the book has not a dull line 
in it. The captain has the art of telling a story in high perfection. — 
N. Y. Tribune. 

The story is full of interest and excitement. ... It is a charming book. 
— N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

The book is one of great interest. ... It is the story of a famous and 
able sailor, told by himself in his own way, and has incident enough to 
fix the attention and set going the imagination of anybody. — N. Y. Sun. 

It will take the front rank among the books of adventure on the sea. — 
Boston Courier. 


Published by HARPER <fc BROTHERS, New York. 


jaP* The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


THEIR PILGRIMAGE. 


By Charles Dudley Warner. Richly Illustrated by C. S. 
Reinhart, pp. viii., 364. 8vo, Half Leather, $2 00. 


Aside from the delicious story — its wonderful portraitures of character 
and its dramatic development — the book is precious to all who know any- 
thing about the great American watering-places, for it contains incompar- 
able descriptions of those famous resorts and their frequenters. Even 
without the aid of Mr. Reinhart’s brilliant drawings, Mr. Warner conjures 
up word-pictures of Cape May, Newport, Saratoga, Lake George, Richfield 
Springs, Niagara, the White Mountains, and all the rest, which strike the 
eye like photographs, so clear is every outline. But Mr. Reinhart’s de- 
signs fit into the text so closely that we could not bear to part with a 
single one of them. “Their Pilgrimage” is destined, for an indefinite 
succession of summers, to be a ruling favorite with all visitors of the 
mountains, the beaches, and the spas which are so marvellously reflected 
in its pages. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

The author touches the canvas here and there with lines of color that 
fix and identify American character. Herein is the real charm for those 
who like it best, and for this one may anticipate that it will be one of the 
prominent books of the time. Of the fancy and humor of Mr. Warner, 
which in witchery of their play and power are quite independent of this 
or that subject, there is nothing to add. But acknowledgment is due Mr. 
Reinhart for nearly eighty finely conceived drawings, and to the publishers 
for the substantial and rich letter-press and covers . — Boston Globe. 

No more entertaining travelling companions for a tour of pleasure re- 
sorts could be wished for than those who in Mr. Warner’s pages chat and 
laugh, and skim the cream of all the enjoyment to be found from Mount 
Washington to the Sulphur Springs. . . . His pen-pictures of the charac- 
ters typical of each resort, of the manner of life followed at each, of the 
humor and absurdities peculiar to Saratoga, or Newport, or Bar Harbor, 
as the case may be, are as good-natured as they are clever. The satire, 
when there is any, is of the mildest, and the general tone is that of one 
glad to look on the brightest side of the cheerful, pleasure-seeking world 
with which he mingles. ... In Mr. Reinhart the author has an assistant 
who has done with his pencil almost exactly what Mr. Warner has accom- 
plished with his pen. His drawings are spirited, catch with wonderful 
success the tone and costume of each place visited, and abound in good- 
natured fun . — Christian Union , N. Y. 

Mr. Reinhart’s spirited and realistic illustrations are very attractive, and 
contribute to make an unusually handsome book. We have already com- 
mented upon the earlier chapters of the text; and the happy blending of 
travel and fiction which we looked forward to with confidence did, in fact, 
distinguish this story among the serials of the year. — N. Y. Evening Post. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

far" The above work sent by mail , postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


CONSTANCE F. WOOLSON’S NOVELS 


EAST ANGELS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

ANNE. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

FOR THE MAJOR. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

CASTLE NOWHERE. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. (A New 
Edition .) 

RODMAN THE KEEPER. Southern Sketches. 16mo, 
Cloth, $1 00. (H New Edition .) 

There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson’s writing which 
invests all her characters with lovable qualities. — Jewish Advocate , N. Y. 

Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting mag- 
azine stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the delineation of 
her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of local life. — Jewish 
Messenger, N. Y. 

Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist laureate. 
— Boston Globe. 

Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, amd 
conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the development of a 
story is very remarkable. — London Life. 

Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox nov- 
elist, but strikes a, new and richly loaded vein which, so far, is all her 
own ; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh sensation, 
and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant task of read- 
ing it is finished. The author’s lines must have fallen to her in very 
pleasant places ; or she has, perhaps, within herself the wealth of woman- 
ly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all she writes. Such books 
as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of the day — a quality sadly 
wanting in novels of the time. — Whitehall Review , London. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

S ^~ Harper & Brothers will send the above works by mail, postage vrepaid, to 
any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the prioe. 























































































































































































































































































































































































































































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